Cold Hearted
by T.Kristen
Summary: Gryffon knew honor and strength and pride, what it felt to be wanted, neglected, forgotten about, what it felt to love, be loved and was probably the most inspiring big-brother role model. He didn't think any of this would change when he volunteered for the 65th Games. But things change... This teen doesn't want to become a cold-hearted murderer, but will he be driven to insanity?
1. Prologue

"Gryffon! Gryffon!" A little voice called out desperately, running across the dark hall to cling to his brother's arm. "Where you goin'?"

The fifteen-year old gazed down at his sibling and smiled somewhat. He found it amusing that Stephen continuously tried to copy him in everything, even how he spoke. "Just out to the orchards, kid. I'll be right back."

"But it's too early!" Stephen protested, his grip on Gryffon's hand tightening. "Plus, today's the reaping! You need to get ready!" The teen shook his head and gently slipped his hand out of Stephen's.

"I just need to talk to Jay, Steph'. I'll be right back," he repeated more firmly, turning around and going out the door. He hated to just leave his brother behind with their mother- their overly sweet yet ignorant mother. But he couldn't bring Stephen this time.

Taking the winding road around the main square to the orchards, Gryffon soon reached the first of the blooming trees. He let his hand gently brush against one of the rough barks and he traced the pattern, the tip of his fingers sinking into every spiraling indent.

"You're early for once," a soft voice murmured behind him, sounding almost timid, yet there was an edge that tinged her tone, too. Gryffon turned around to face her, though he kept his back against the tree while his gaze remained cool but soft at the same time.

"I couldn't bring myself to be late this time," he answered quietly, letting his bright hazel, now amber, gaze rest within the silver pools that made up her eyes.

"Aren't you sweet? Play with all our hearts, and yet you try so hard to please _me_? Now that isn't very fair," she teased, walking toward him with her hands linked behind her back. Gryffon chuckled coldly and pushed off the tree, taking her hand when she extended it to him.

"You don't seem to mind," he pointed out bitterly, leading them deeper into the maze of trees, his steps matching hers. He felt her shake her head beside him, and soon, her head was rested lightly on his shoulder with her golden locks tickling his chin when the breeze passed as they walked. "You okay, Jay?" The girl let out a small sigh and her hold on his hand became firmer in what he could only assume to be fear. "What is it?"

"You haven't ever feared tessera, Gryff'?" She asked in turn, flicking her shining gaze up at him for one quick moment.

"Of course I have," he answered with a roll of his eyes, his thumb gently rubbing the back of her hand. "But you have too . . ."

"I know, but . . . I . . . Gryff', I just don't want to be reaped," Jay murmured. "I know no one wants to be . . .Other than the Careers, and strangely you?"

"Where'd you get that absurd idea from? No," Gryffon denied with a smirk. "But I'm also tired of this damned district . . . We're always so hated . . . Looked down upon . . . We're more hated than Twelve, haven't you noticed? I want to show those bastards we're more than just some cow shit they can walk over."

"No one's compared us to manure, Gryffon," Jay answered grimly.

"That's beside the point, Jay! Don't you see?" Gryffon said, jerking her around to face him. "Look . . . My dad knew what he was doing, so-"

"Yeah, he knew so well, he got himself killed," she cut him off, not flinching away from his unusually calm glare.

"He knew, Jay, he knew . . . I know he knew . . . " He stammered with a shake of his head. "I'm not blind on how to shoot a bullet or snap someone's neck."

"You may not be blind, but you certainly don't have twenty-twenty vision," Jay retorted, pulling away from him and continuing down the path herself. "You're just stupid . . . "

"Wanting to bring honor to this damned place is being stupid?" Gryffon growled, raising a brow, easily keeping pace with her. "Wanting to to give my little brother a _chance _is being _stupid_?"

"Yes and yes because you're damned selfish, Gryffon, even Stephen knows that," Jay countered easily, her usually soft voice sharpening. "You want to prove _yourself_ for some _crazy_ reason and you're going to end up getting yourself _killed_ because of that!" He remained silent for a minute after that. He knew she was right, and she knew she was too. She was unreadable to him, but to her, Gryffon seemed like an open book. It was like all his thoughts and motives were written on his face in bold print.

"Jay . . . You know I'll protect you right? If you you're reaped," he whispered.

"I know," she answered in an equally as quiet voice, but the edge wasn't gone. "But that won't stop you from being and idiot."

"I'm not," he started firmly, "I know what I'm doing, I'm not crazy or stupid or idiotic. You say I'm selfish, but how is sending myself to an inevitable bloodbath selfish? That's more like a murder-suicide mission, Jay. I don't know what I'm trying to prove yet . . . but showing the rest of Panem District Eleven isn't to be reckoned with is surely it part of it."

"You care for the Capitol too much for that to work, my dear," Jay murmured softly.

"Imagine if Eleven became a favorite!?" Gryffon hissed excitedly, shaking his head and motioned with his hands for emphasis. "We'd never go hungry!"

"That's never going to happen," Jay retorted before he finished. Gryffon knew that wouldn't ever happen either, no matter how hard any of them tried. It was pointless to even consider it, but still, his mind was made up. "How are you going to tell Stephen? He expects you back after the reaping."

"He knows- plus, I'll tell him I'll win," Gryffon said surely. "I'll win it for him, then teach him everything I learned in the process!"

"And what if I'm reaped?" Jay whispered, her voice hardly a murmur.

"Then we tough it out together," Gryffon answered indirectly, letting his fingers intertwine with hers again. "Look, I promise I'll protect you, wherever you are."

Jay let out another half-hearted sigh and let her hand go around his. She shook her head, but let his arrogance be, but there was just one thing she wouldn't ever drop. "Gryffon . . . Your promises don't mean a thing, I'm sorry to say . . . "


	2. The Reaping

The reaping. The day everyone between the ages twelve through eighteen either feared or anticipated. The Career districts, Districts 1, 2, and 4, were usually excited for this nation-wide event whereas mostly everyone else was left in a pool of anxiety. Gryffon, though, was one of the few outer-district tributes who, yes, was nervous beyond explanation, but knew what he was heading into.

With one last glance at his stone-faced friend, Gryffon moved toward the mob of boys and found his place with the fifteen year olds. The waves of static distress was almost tangible, and it set him off. He had to push away this dread otherwise there was no way he'd speak up to volunteer in place of whatever sucker that was reaped. No matter what Jay said . . . He _had_ to go in.

_"Gryffon!" Stephen piped up, taking hold of the teen's hand. "Do you have to go?" Gryffon looked down at his little brother, slowing his steps down just enough for the seven-year old to keep up._

"I do," he answered, "everyone over twelve has to go to the reaping." Stephen shook his head and stopped walking, gripping the ground with his feet. Their mother stopped behind him, gazing at her eldest son with her wide and saddened green gaze. The boy scoffed and looked back down at his brother. Their mother did not care . . . He had to make sure that thought remained in his mind. All throughout this game they called "Life".

"I mean into the Games," the dark-eyed kid corrected, tilting his head back to look at Gryffon. "I don't want you to be gone!"

He had simply answered that he would come back as soon as he could. He wouldn't stay long. He'd win for them.

_"Don't you want a big house and lots of food? You could even call your friends over after that," Gryffon mused quietly, crouching down so he was eye-level with Stephen. "I could win it _all_ for us, kid."_

The bright smile that spread across Stephen's face after that played back in his mind now. His brother had gotten excited, but did he really understand what could happen in the arena, despite Gryffon's reassurance that he would come back just fine? Or was he just acting happy to encourage his older brother? Stephen didn't seem to be like any naive little kid, but he often acted like it, unless he knew Gryffon was unsettled by something.

Shaking his head, Gryffon turned his gaze over to where the lines of parents stood behind the mob of eligible tributes. His eyes locked with his little brother's and the two smirked. Stephen knew the risks, this much Gryffon was sure of. Rolling his eyes, Gryffon turned back to face the stage and was instantly welcomed by a loud, high-pitched voice.

_"Welcome!"_ Gryffon moaned and brought his gaze down to his feet. The Capitol escort continued to babble on, announcing how _happy_ he was to be the escort of this year's Games and what an _honor_ it was. Then, he started the Dark Days video.

Gryffon let himself zone out once the video was projected onto the huge temporary screen beside the grand Justice Building of 11. He had practically memorized the entire video within the three years he had been going to a reaping and usually used that time to regain his determined focus and go over how he would walk up there, or volunteer. He needed to sound steady and keep a straight face, his gaze hard and posture square. He had to look like a Career and show no fear or hesitation. He had to prove he could be just as good as any of them.

With a smirk, Gryffon realized that most of the district knew him as a gruff kid. They knew he wasn't scared to break someone's nose or snap a neck, and were all well aware of who his "daddy" was. Their father, his and Stephen's, had been a district-chosen Peacekeeper. Sure, he wasn't the best father. Always gone at work and when he got home he'd more or less ignore them all- with a few special exceptions. Well, that's what Gryffon thought until Stephen was born. Three years ago, when Stephen had turned five, their father had started to teach them a few defensive skills at night, teaching both his sons how to force themselves to stay awake in the process. Gryffon picked the techniques up faster and more desperately than Stephen, but that only encouraged their father. He taught Gryffon how to shoot and throw- and several methods he had learned in Peacekeeper training back in Two. He taught Gryffon how to handle a whip (this one made of a tough vine found in one of the fields) and turn just about anything into a weapon. Especially his hands. Working in the orchards aided with his strength, so all he had to learn to do was apply that strength in the right way. The only thing he was bad at was thinking as fast as his body moved.

The only problem is, Vigilum didn't live long enough to teach Gryffon how to work just as well with his mind as he could with his instinct. Going by what your body knows is good and all when you don't need to avoid getting hit. Knowing how to defend yourself to go into an attack was one thing, but defending yourself to get away was another.

_"Ladies first!"_

Gryffon snapped back to reality and let his eyes wrench away from the head of the kid in front of him to the escort. He didn't hear the man announce his name or wish them luck, or anything of the sort. The only thing that entered his mind at that moment was the two words he had started to dread since last night. 'Ladies first'. He'd rather there be no 'ladies' in this Games. His gaze slowly traveled over to where Jay stood, her hair tied up in a ponytail by a braid his mother had made. She was practically an adopted sister . . . Well, she had grown to be _slightly_ closer than that, at least to Gryffon.  
To anyone who didn't know how to look for the signs, she'd seem like she was glaring up at the stage with the same amount of confidence and determination Gryffon truly felt; but for him, the person who probably knew her just as well as she knew herself, it was easy to see the slight trembling of her shoulders as she suppressed nervous tears. He could see her clenched jaw and gritted teeth and hands balled up into fists just a little too tightly at her sides. She was gripping the skirt of her dress, probably pinching herself to distract her from her own fears.

"Jay Wright, come on up here, sweetheart," the man mused into the microphone in his overly feminine voice a moment after he read the stupid little envelope as he stared into the crowd of girls to try and locate Jay. Gryffon froze. Out of all the female tributes that could have been reaped, her name had to be called? _Really_?

He looked toward her, his eyes stretched wide. She hadn't moved . . . She had to go, she couldn't just stand there with everyone staring, she'd become a target for the _other_ districts. She'd make them look bad. She had to _move!_

Twp Peacekeepers started to march forward through the path made by the potential tributes toward the frozen girl.

Before anyone else could react, Jay seemed to snap out of her daze and started to move her feet forward. One agonizing step at a time until she was bounding, almost excitedly, up the stairs to the makeshift stage. "You had quite a fright there, Miss Wright," the escort commented, helping her up the last step with a hand. She gave a small, nervous smile, but clearly the bitter-sweetness that came through the gesture caught the man's attention.

"Well, I'll admit I didn't expect my name to be called, but it's quite the honor to represent my district in this annual event," Jay answered smoothly, her smile brightening over her face. Gryffon sighed and let his muscles relax again. Now he had no choice but to go in with her. He didn't care now if he wasn't the one to come out alive, but he had to keep her safe- and as long as either of them came out. Gryffon didn't doubt that she could easily find another ally, maybe a Career, with the charm he knew she had . . . But the thought made him seethe. _He_ had to be the one to stand beside her.

"Then it is a pleasure to have you!" The man mused, smiling brightly. "But just for custom's sake, any volunteers?" No one stirred or gave any sign that they had heard, or any sign that they would want to volunteer. Gryffon frowned, and though he had expected this exact reaction from the agricultural district, he had hoped someone would have had a change of heart this year like he did. No matter . . . He'd still go.

"Well . . . " The escort started, clearing his throat. "Boys next, I suppose!?" Again, his voice was way too cheerful for this. Gryffon hated it. The man's hand fumbled around the glass ball with the boys' names and time seemed to slow down. Gryffon felt like everything was moving at an incredibly relaxed paced, and Jay's intense stare wasn't helping. "Ah!" Gryffon's eyes snapped up to the escort's bright eyes again, his own narrowing. "Corey-"

"I volunteer!"

At least three relieved sighs left the mouths of some of the younger kids on the boy's side, and everyone else remained silent. A path made of hard-faced teenagers formed in front of Gryffon and he smirked. The escort was staring at him, dumbfounded, and a bit taken aback. Of course, no one other than the Careers had ever volunteered so quickly and suddenly. Or volunteered at all.

In a couple of bounds, Gryffon was up on the stage and quickly shook the man's outstretched hand, noticing that he had manicured hands with long, green nails. _Disgusting . . . _Gryffon thought quickly before flashing a well-mannered yet threatening smile at both the escort and the cameras. "Don't you want to know my name?" He asked, looking down at the escort slightly.

"Oh, why yes." The man recovered quickly and tilted the microphone toward Gryffon.

"Gryffon Sauntor," he answered coolly, letting his hands slip into the pockets of his dark denim jeans. "And you, sir? I'm afraid I didn't catch your name."

Again, that stupid look of bafflement entered the man's yellow eyes. "Vinyel," the Capitolite answered, his pupils narrowing with what looked like annoyance now. "And what made you want to volunteer before I even read the name of the boy off? It was quite a rude thing that you did, cut off someone before they finished speaking."

"Why? I can't want to just support my district?" He retorted with a cocky smirk. "And, Vinyel, I don't really care if it was rude or not. Why scare the kid if he'd going to be spared, anyway? Might as well just leave all the Corey's here in tight suspense- wondering which one of them it would've been. At least they're not going." Gryffon offered another small shrug and glanced at Jay, an amused glint entering his hazel eyes. She met his gaze easily and gave a small shake of her head before looking forward again, pretending like she couldn't see either of the men beside her.

"Well . . . Ahem, well, your District Eleven tributes for this year's Games, ladies and gentlemen!" Vinyel announced, motioning to either of them. A few of Gryffon's classmates shot grins and smirks up at the stage toward the two, but the only one Gryffon was really paying attention to was his smiling brother, all the way across the square behind the line of Peacekeepers. The teenager smiled somewhat, nodding a bit at the eight-year old.

_"And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!" Stephen squealed, jumping off the fifth step into Gryffon's arms. "Stupid boy!"_

"Hey, the only stupid boy in this house is you, kid!" Gryffon retorted, lightly tossing his younger brother back on the floor. "Good luck!"

"Don't mock me!" The long-limbed seven-year old ran at his brother, trying to knock him over, but only succeeded in falling back on himself. "Maybe the odds should be in my favor, right?"

"No, I'd never let you get in that position," Gryffon mused, ruffling the kid's dark hair. "Just wish me luck when the time comes." Stephen looked up at him with his wide, honey-brown eyes before offering a small nod, still too naive to understand any of it.

_"Good luck, Gryffon!" he laughed, wrapping his arms around his taller brother's waist._

Hopefully those words would work this time. Maybe coming from his brother they'd be of any use . . .

"And may the odds be _ever_ in their favor," Vinyel finished, turning around and urging Gryffon and Jay toward the Justice Building.


	3. Well Then

"Gryffon, don't forget your promise!" Stephen ordered once he pulled back from his older brother, crossing his arms over his chest. "Okay?"

Gryffon chuckled and ruffled the kid's hair, answering with a firm, "got it, little man. Take care of ma' in turn, okay?" No, she hadn't cared for either of them, but Gryffon still tried to show some sort of liking toward the woman. Hell, she hadn't even come in to see him, she merely sent Stephen in. "And of Jay's little sister?"

"Of course!" Stephen answered, jumping up at Gryffon again, wrapping his arms around his taller older brother's waist. "Try not to become a Capitol person with weird hair! I want my brother when he comes back." Before the teen could answer, a Peacekeeper opened the door and walked in, standing behind the seven-year old, waiting for him to pull back. "Bye, Gryff'!"

Now even the annoying nickname hurt.

"Bye, Steph'," Gryffon answered with a half-smile, gently uncurling his brother's arms from around him. "See you later, 'kay? I promise." And with a small nod, Stephen let himself be herded toward the door with a blank expression, his smile gone now.

~*~

"Andie go see you, Gryffon?" Jay asked in a choked voice, flinching back when the Jeep hit a bump in the road. Vinyel started to talk after that, but both tributes ignored the man in the passenger seat in front of them.

"Yeah, she came in before Stephen." He blinked down at his district partner, noticing she was biting her lips—probably to keep herself from letting the tears go. "She saw you, right?" Jay simply answered with a nod, letting a shuddering sigh escape her lips.

"Think they'll manage without either of us?" Her voice was strained, as if she were trying to convince herself of that; maybe to convince herself she still had something to come back to. Of course, with Jay gone, all Andie had was Pulchra and Stephen. Jay's parents had vanished, leaving her with a three-year old baby sister four years ago. Gryffon, being Jay's friend, managed to convince his own parents of letting Jay and Andie stay with them, so they became like family.

"You know Pulchra always cared for you and your sister. Sometimes I wonder if she would rather have four daughters than two sons," Gryffon answered quietly, letting his gaze lift from Jay's fear-stricken one to the road in front of them. The car stopped moving and the train loomed in front of them now, not twenty feet away.

With a delighted clap, Vinyel jumped out of the Jeep and turned toward them. "Let's go, children!" Gryffon sighed and slipped out from the back, watching as Jay followed muted. "You're going to adore the train ride! And the Training Center is amazing, especially your rooms! Oh! And your stylists! Rumor has it that this year, all districts are collaborating somehow for the parade! Doesn't that sound exciting!? I cannot wait to see it! Can you!?"

_Yes, actually, I think I'd be willing to wait my whole life for that shit,_ Gryffon thought tartly as he and Jay were ushered toward the train by the two Peacekeepers that led them and their escort.

"Up, up, up, you two! Stop moving like a couple of slugs!" Vinyel urged, placing a hand on Jay's shoulder to push her forward to the train's door. She wrenched herself away before simply pulling herself up onto the monstrous metal beast.

Gryffon scoffed and growled under his breath, "I'm going to freaking punch him if he doesn't shut the hell up . . . " Jay shot him a pointed look, but quickly averted her dazzling gaze back to the train's interior.

As the male tribute stepped into the train, he felt a hand reach up to his shoulder, too. "Gorgeous, isn't it?" Gryffon shrugged Vinyel's hand off and ignored the man's rhetorical question before letting his feet move forward into the huge, room-like space.

"This is better than a room in our Victor's Village," Jay breathed, glancing back at them. Gryffon scoffed in response again, curious as to how she'd know that if she hadn't even gone to Victor's Village, let alone see a room in one of the houses.

"Well, yes, but it isn't nearly as luxurious as the rooms you'll be staying in at the Capitol!" Again, Vinyel's girl-like voice mused in a sing-song tone, threatening Gryffon's self-control.

"How wonderful," the fifteen-year old started in an ironic growl. "Now where can we stay until we get there later? Or must we lounge about?" _Staring at your mentally-scarring face?_ He continued inwardly.

"Not very social are you?"

Gryffon and Jay turned their heads around to face a new person; the woman's hair was chin-length and the color of a coffee bean. She had surprisingly green eyes and stood slightly over Jay at about five-foot-nine with a pleasing complexion that seemed to have just a slight limp.

"No, he's overly social, usually. He's just a bit pissed at the moment," Jay answered with a small smile, stretching out her hand in greeting. "Jay Wright."

"Annabelle Miranda, your mentor." She shook Jay's hand with a sincere-looking smile, but the two seemed too comfortable to have met just now. Or, maybe, Jay's acting was better than Gryffon had thought. The mentor shifted her cool gaze to Gryffon, and her smile widened, causing the dimples at the edge of her lips to deepen.

"Gryffon Sauntor . . . You—"

"Sit, children, sit!" Vinyel cut in, placing either hand on the tributes' shoulders before pushing them toward the grand dining table in the far side of the long car they were in. Gryffon saw Annabelle roll her eyes, but she simply followed them before waving away their excitable escort.

"Now," she started, pulling a chair out for herself across her tributes as Jay and Gryffon sat adjacent from each other. "I hear you two are already friends, yes?" Gryffon remained silent for the sake of being stubborn, but Jay answered with a small nod for him. "That's tragic, really, but you can use that to your advantage, if you wish."

"We aren't putting up one of those stupid love facades. Okay?" Annabelle's bright eyes flickered to Gryffon, a somewhat amused look on her face.

"Of course not." Her words weren't sarcastic, but they were too casual to be series, either. "But then, what 'facade' would you use? Keep in mind that the sponsors don't only want to see how well you wield a sword, but also how you present yourself." As Gryffon examined her further, she didn't seem to have any visible scars, nor were there any signs that she abused alcohol or morphling. The way she spoke made her seem level-headed, and hardly like someone who had to watch twenty-three others die for her to survive.

"We'll present ourselves as childhood friends," Jay spoke up in answer. "Because that's what we are." Annabelle raised a brow at her, then glanced at Gryffon inquisitively, as if waiting for his input.

He stared back into her eyes, spacing out for a moment. Childhood friends? They could easily pull off the "couple act", they were practically one, anyway . . . So why did he deny it before it was even suggested? "Yeah, it'd work," he said finally with a small nod. "Siblings, even. Adoptive ones, anyway."

Annabelle seemed to like the idea considering the little nod she gave. "An alliance between the both of you would surely please the sponsors— that is, if you can grab their attention at the parade and with your training scores."

The District Eleven male tensed. The training he was more or less prepared for, but not being show-cased for the rest of his world to see. Shooting a glance at his district partner, Gryffon saw that Jay was merely staring at the empty plate in front of her and gave no sign that she would offer her own opinion, or that she had even heard the small exchange.

"Overall, though, you must stay alive . . . Eleven has only two victors, one who hardly ever leaves his house, and me." Annabelle's tone suddenly grew grim and opened up a warning that caught Gryffon's attention. This soft-hearted-looking, twenty-something-year old wasn't as cheery inwardly as she looked outwardly, he supposed. "We need a new victor . . . " The blood-lust increased in her tone, and a hungry look entered her eyes and she stared back into Gryffon's eyes. "I don't want mercy. From either of you." At that, her evergreen eyes flickered back to Jay and she smirked a bit as she tapped her forefinger on the wooden tabletop, as if counting something mentally.

_No mercy?_

Well, then . . . No problem.


	4. I Don't Know

The train had stopped in District Twelve for a few minutes before it started to head out again, but this time to the whole other side of the country. Annabelle, after pushing them to eat something, dismissed her tributes to their rooms to watch the recaps of the reapings and take a first look at their competition.

Gryffon shut his eyes for a moment, pushing himself away from the table to stand up, and opened his eyes to Jay's that looked up at him. "What?"

"Watch the recaps with me?" Her voice was a mere whisper, making it almost impossible to hear, but despite that, Gryffon caught it clearly and answered with an equally as small nod. He was aware that usually the "I'm okay, and totally unaffected by anything" act was just that: an act.

"Keep an eye on the Careers. They're a threat every year." The male tribute rolled his eyes at the obvious comment from their mentor and allowed Jay's hand to go under his, their fingers intertwining.

"You won't care for . . . them?" Jay's now-quiet voice asked as they made their way to one of the compartments in the train. _Them . . ?_ Gryffon shook his head as they entered the first room. He blinked at the plainness of it, and yet it seemed so . . . royal.

The metal floor was painted with a black and white tile pattern, while the walls were all white, as were the pillows and sheets of the bed; the covers were an almost washed-out black, reminding Gryffon of the night sky.

He let go of Jay's seemingly trembling hands and went to turn the television on. "Wretched thing," Gryffon growled under his breath, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the Capitol's eagle emblem and Panem's national anthem.

"I thought you liked that 'wretched thing'?" Jay inquired, referring to the Capitol emblem as she kicked off her white sandals and pulled her legs up onto the bed.

"I do, but not when it puts my friend in danger." He looked over at her, a slight frown pulling down on his lips. "And no, Jay, I won't 'care for them'."

"You said the same about—"

_Forget what I said . . . Forget that . . !_  
"Macee was different, okay? You assumed things, then don't believe any explanation I give, so I want to hear nothing of that topic." His voice was firm as he let his golden-green eyes bear into her, seeming to make her uncomfortable until she had to look away. She let out an audible sigh and moved over slightly to the edge of the bed, patting the space beside her to beckon him over. Gryffon ran a hand through his slightly wavy hair and walked over, letting himself plop down beside her on the bed, slipping out of his shoes.

"I don't listen because I know you can lie . . . " She shifted her steely gaze from the bed to the golden bird shining on the screen as Gryffon eased himself beside her. He had no answer for her . . . He knew she was right, but she had to keep reminding him. Not everything he said or did was a complete lie. He had reasons for things . . . He didn't always just _react_ . . . Right?

_"Hello Districts!"_

Gryffon felt Jay wince beside him when Claudius Templesmith's voice boomed on the screen as the anthem died down. Quickly, after a swift introduction of the reaping, the view switched from the emblem of Panem to District One.

_"Sapphire Camill!"_ The female tribute, a platinum blonde girl with green-blue eyes, practically ran up to One's stage, her miniskirt threatening to flaunt her butt.

_"No one come up here, this is my Games!"_ she announced into the microphone, a cocky smirk on her lips. The escort, a rainbow colored beast of sorts, let out a chortling laugh and went toward the boy's name bowl after instructing the excitable Sapphire to stand back a bit.

_"Denim Melthorne!?"_

A short, though stocky looking kid that appeared no older than fourteen, stepped through the crowd. A bit of commotion sounded from the back of the boys' section, but no one seemed brave enough to volunteer in place of this boy.

"Wonder what special talent he has," Jay mumbled under her breath, glancing up at Gryffon. "I know they're probably both Caree—"

"Shh, look," he interrupted, nodding back up at the screen. When Denim turned to face the crowd, the several scars that covered his face became visible. His upper lip was torn and the scar carried over to the top of his right cheek and nicked his eyebrow. The torn part of his lip made one of his canine teeth stick out of his mouth, as if he was baring it like the animal he looked to be.

"How attractive," Gryffon sneered with a smirk. "He must scare the whole district if no one's jumped to replace the midget yet."

Jay simply scoffed at his answer, letting her hand drop down over his. "I hope you're wrong and One just doesn't feel like fighting this year. Maybe a dog bit off his face . . . Not because he got into fights." Gryffon only shrugged in response as the scene eventually switched over to Two.

The female called was some meek twelve-year old that got replaced by a long-limbed eighteen-year old named Charm. Her partner, Magnolia, was a lanky yet arrogant-looking teen that got no offers to be replaced.

Three didn't have very memorable tributes aside from the fact that they seemed to be related somehow, maybe cousins, or something of the sort. District Four had another pair of . . . somewhat-tough-looking Careers; the male was Joshua Sotherfields and the female Coral Koi. They both looked ridiculously young, definitely no older than fifteen, if even that. Their faces were still too babyish, especially Joshua's. But why no fully trained Career jumped up to replace either of them is beyond Gryffon's understanding.

Joshua kept on staring into the crowd of people at one specific point, his gaze completely unwavering and if the camera was correct, the deep blue color in his irises shone with tears.

"He should have been replaced . . . He looks like he's about to cry," Jay commented quietly as the screen switched again to show Five's tributes. It continued that way: couple of names reaped, district switch, quick comment from either of Eleven's kids, up until the recap reached District Eleven and the mood between the childhood friends seemed to darken. The fifteen-year old blinked down at Jay once he felt her hand tighten around his and their fingers were linked.

"Ladies first!" She mocked. "Jay Wright, come on up here, sweetheart!" Gryffon chuckled lightly at her half-hearted teasing, but couldn't help but notice how firm her grip around his hand was.

"Everything's going to be OK, Jay," Gryffon said quietly as the confident-looking form of Jay bounded up to the makeshift stage on the recap. He nuzzled gently into her sweet smelling hair and eased his hand out of hers before wrapping the arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer to him. "Everything but that horrid accent is OK. You suck at it."

Gryffon felt her head shift a bit under him as she rolled her eyes, then, as he glanced down, caught the flash of silver as she blinked up at him. "Hun', I wanna see you do better," Jay challenged with a stifled yawn muffling her voice. Clearing his voice, Gryffon went on:

"Boys next, I suppose!?" As the words left his mouth, the tribute twiddled his other hand in the air and made his voice higher as he attempted the Capitol's bizarre accent and imitated Vinyel. "Ah! Corey—Oh! Oh my!"

"Tch, what is it?" Jay asked with a scoff, though her try at a harsh tone was completely demolished by the giggle that escaped her lips.

"Oh, do you believe it!?" He continued, looking down at her with his wide hazel eyes, now gleaming a bright gold-brown color. "Oh, I certainly don't!"

"Believe what?" The blue-eyed girl pushed herself up and turned over to sit on her knees to look at him straight without having to look up. "What don't you believe?"

The teen shook his head and let out an outrageous gasp and gently placed his hand over Jay's cheek. "Oh, oh, oh, dear, honey . . . " He accented each 'oh' with a click of his tongue and an exaggerated shake of his head, and made the expression a lot more ridiculous by closing his eyes and furrowing his brows.

"Oh, for God's sake, Gryffon! What!?" Jay begged, exasperated. As much as she sounded like she was fed up with his silly acting, she had a small grin spread out over her face and she had inched closer to him. "Gryffon!" When he continued to ignore her and went on with the shaking of his head and tired sounding 'oh's, Jay pushed herself up and placed both hands over his cheeks to hold his head in place and leaned her head in toward his palm slightly. "Gryyyyyffon . . . What don't you believe?"

Gryffon opened his bright eyes again, seeing that they reflected green into Jay's almost white-hued ones. As their eyes locked, he forgot the excuse he had and let the words come out almost on their own, "I don't know." He watched as Jay blinked a couple of times, curious himself as to why he kept it up so long. To distract her from the reapings, which he now saw from the corner of his eyes was over; or maybe to try to get a laugh out of her considering she had been so harsh with him the past few days. Whatever it was, he knew he had lightened her mood up at least by a little since he saw her trying to fight the laugh that was undoubtedly rising up in her and that she was failing to hide from her eyes. That, or he just dampened it more and she was near tears . . .

"You are impossible," she finally sighed, dropping her hands around his neck and allowing herself to slump down against him, her head resting on one of his shoulders. Jay let herself give into the slight giggles that convulsed in her chest, but they quickly quieted down and became more like shivers than light-hearted trembling. Gryffon sighed and put an arm around her waist, pulling her up onto his lap and closer to him so he could actually wrap his arms around her, holding her securely against his chest. "Everything isn't okay, Gryffon. You don't even know what you believe and don't believe. I want to trust you again." He sighed and let his head rest gently against hers as a couple of fingers wound her hair around them.

He wanted to assure again and say she could trust him, that he'd be stupid to let anything happen to her again—though he was tired of hearing those blaming words come out of her mouth. But it was true that there was so much he wasn't sure of anymore. At least to do with her. He wanted to get past this, and he wanted to help her, but if she didn't even have some faith in herself, how did she expect him to be of any use in actually protecting her? Gryffon shook his head and left it at that. There wasn't much he could say that wouldn't make the tears flow quicker or actually be of any assurance to her at all. Silence was the best answer he could offer . . . But as Jay's fingers tightened around the fabric of his shirt and she nuzzled her head closer to his shoulder, he wonder if silence would be any more helpful than the two words it would take to tell her it's okay.


	5. Mask

Before he even realized he had started moving, the elevator dinged open and he let himself walk onto a pearl-white floor that was surrounded by dark navy curtains. Around a metal table lay a couple of rolling desks that you would expect a hair stylist or salon owner to have.

"Oh! You look even better in person!"

Uhg! Yet another Capitolite. How . . . fun.

Gryffon raised a brow in the direction of the voice and tilted his head down to look at the four-foot tall, purple-hued lady that stood before him now. "Uhm . . . "

"Honey, come, come, come!" She took hold of his hand and pulled him toward the metal table where two other people now stood around, each with their own strange skin color. The taller of the three, who seemed to stand around five-nine, had a rainbow gradient hue to her skin, whereas the man seemed to be dyed a light purple color that wasn't quite lavender yet.

"That's Summer, Joyce, and I'm Mira!" the little purple stylist giggled as she pointed to each of them, resting her other hand on Gryffon's arm. The tribute sighed, already annoyed at her shrilly voice. It was similar to Vinyel's . . . Damn, there was no getting away from the man. Or these oddly colored people . . .

Mira giggled and tugged a bit on Gryffon's shirt. "Go on, dear, don't wanna hold us up, right?" He stared down at the little person, confused for a moment as to what she meant.

Right . . . They had to make him "Capitol presentable" . . . Uhg.

The tribute sighed and gently swatted the woman's hand away from him before he pulled his shirt over his head. "Completely . . ?" He asked, though not nearly as hesitant as he could've been.

"Sure," Joyce responded with a little laugh, rolling his caramel eyes. In seconds Gryffon stripped, and was pushed back onto the metal table by Mira. He would be their guinea pig for the next hour or so, and as amusing the thought was to the fifteen-year old, he wasn't exactly pleased with the idea.

Summer busied herself in lathering the hot wax over the areas they had been taught to make completely hair-free—which was relatively everywhere besides the tribute's face, unless needed. Gryffon blinked a bit in surprise, not having expected something so warm. As first it wasn't uncomfortable at all, the warmth of the wax was actually soothing, and when Joyce went ahead with the waxing tape, nothing was much different. Until the damned thing was actually pulled.

Gryffon grimaced and flinched a bit, or at least as much as the table would allow. "The—" He cut himself off, biting his tongue to keep from finishing the cuss.

"It's going to hurt," Mira warned a moment before Joyce pulled again. Gryffon was tensed already, but not exactly prepared for it. How the hell was this normal!?

"Gee, thanks for telling me," he growled, his voice tapering off into a groan when again the hairs tore off his leg. What was with the Capitol? Did they have something against hair? It was a natural thing . . . Then again, the Capitol seemed against natural things, so...never mind.

Twenty sore minutes later, Gryffon was basically numb from waist down, and had just stopped complaining by the time they massaged a cream into his skin that would keep any hair from growing back for a couple of weeks until the Games were over. Being a show dog was a lot harder than it looked. "Done . . ?" He mumbled when Joyce backed off and Summer decided to step up. Without answering, she placed a delicate hand on his shoulder and sat him up, smiling gently.

"Almost," she murmured. There was something in her light brown eyes that gave her a sort of sad appearance, but her smile spoke otherwise. She ran her hand through his hair and the smile grew wider. Summer gave an excited sounding giggle and reached around to the rolling desk to grab scissors. She made seemingly quick work with his hair, cutting it so the fringes wouldn't hang so messily over his eyes, and shortened it a bit while still allowing his hair to keep the controlled messy look that reached the base of his head in the back. "The next part might not be so fun, but the gel smells nice."

Gel? Gryffon echoed, watching her as she curled her hand into a jar of a green liquid-resembling thing. When he noticed it piled up neatly on her finger tips, he decided to compare it to a sort of jelly, because, besides the color, it looked exactly like the jelly his mother would make sometimes.

Summer went around him and started to pull his hair back with her free hand while gradually applying the gel to it. She was right, it did smell nice, and to him, the scent seemed to resemble an orchard. Whether that was intentional on her part or not, he didn't know, but it certainly calmed him. The smell of home . . . He had to get back, that's all he thought of at the moment.

"What are you doing?" Gryffon asked curiously, blinking out of the momentary daze, realizing it felt like she was pulling his hair up in small portions.

"It'll go with the outfit Canworm designed for you," she answered . . . sort of.

"Okay, but what exactly—"

"Patience, boy," Mira interrupted with a giggle as she took hold of his hand and started to work on his nails. "You'll see soon enough." He rolled his eyes, having forgotten about the chipmunk-voiced woman. Whatever . . .

Summer finished after a few more minutes and glanced down at Mira once she finished as well. "Anything else?" The purple hued stylist stepped back and stared at Gryffon, a smile never leaving her face, but her eyes were quizzical. It was as if he were a new kind of mutt that had to be studied in order to be deemed perfect— the feeling was both comfortable and awkward.

"I think we're done," she mused in an almost musical tone. "Fast for an outer district," Mira added for the hell of it with a smug smile.

_"God, you're so fucking stupid!"_

"For doing what!? The only one being stupid here is you! You don't fucking try to understand one fucking thing I fucking say—"

"Do not speak to me like that!" A hand flew across a couple of feet and struck Gryffon's face, sending him stumbling back. "You're going to throw everything away for nothing_!"_

"Trying to make something of this damned life is throwing everything away_!?" Gryffon retorted, staring into his father's eyes, not caring that the man took it as a challenge. His face stung and his jaw was fixed in a painful clench, but he wasn't going to pull back away. Not again. The man had been so unreasonable for so long. He was tired of it! "What am I doing that you don't approve of!? Huh? What is it this time?"_

"Planning to volunteer for that fucking thing—"

"I thought you liked that 'fucking thing'! I'm doing this damned thing for you!" he snarled. "You're the one who asked me to!" Of course he was drunk. He was always drunk when he wasn't on duty. Gryffon would rather he never get breaks. He could learn how to shoot and how to fight on his own. His friends could easily teach him—they'd screw around often enough to know how to dodge a close call and to start fights without getting themselves too hurt. He didn't need his father. He didn't need this Capitol activist teaching him how to act like another Peacekeeper. He certainly didn't need a crazy, drunk father trying to discipline him by reversing everything he had grown up with.

"I said don't speak to me like that!" Again his hand came down, this time punching Gryffon in the shoulder, pushing him back against the wall. His head slammed against it, causing his vision to distort for a second.

"Fuck you, damnit!" A year ago, Gryffon would never think of saying this to his father. Mostly for the sake of Stephen so he wouldn't become a target, too. Their dad wasn't all that bad. He was just violent when drunk, and Gryffon could understand that. But it was annoying. False mother and crazy father. He was really only fun when he was teaching them how to throw a punch or how to kick, but damn, even when drunk and with bad aim he was powerful.

"No fucking thirteen-year old's gonna speak to me like that, got it?" Gryffon had time to look up at him and catch the dark scowl before the man's foot met his chest. With a groan, he slammed against the wall, stuck between wood and an army boot. His breath came short and it was like his lungs forgot how to pump air and his eyes forgot how to see. Colors mashed together and swirled in his vision, trapping him in a nauseating, vomit-colored world for a moment.

"No fucking show dog will talk to me like that, got it, you little shit?"

Show dog. Oh, of course. Going into the Games would mean parading for everyone to see. To be scrutinized and fixed until he looked and matched the Capitol's expectations. But wasn't that was his father was? Another cute little show dog put in a white suit, tied up with a pretty little bow to be marched down the street with a huge _**CAPITOL PROPERTY**__ sign on his chest? Who was the little shit here, really? That's what Gryffon wondered. The _wonderful_, big-shot role model, or the kid who only wanted to please the critics?_

"Fuck you . . . " Gryffon choked, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. "I want respect."

"And so does every other damned person in this district." He pressed his foot harder against his son's chest, smiling when another loud groan escaped Gryffon's lips. "And you aren't doing yourself a favor by trying to please them."

"Is Eleven usually so hard?" Gryffon asked, his voice cracking a bit. He blinked himself out of the memory, trying to keep the hard look in his eyes as he forced an equally smug smile. "'Cause I assure you my districtmate will be as much trouble as I was." Mira laughed at that, and maybe a little too much, he noted, as the tears sprung to her eyes.

"Okay, okay, Canworm should be ready," Summer piped up, resting her hand on his shoulder again. "Ready, kid?" He glanced at her for a second, surprised to see how bright her eyes were—it was almost as if they were glowing amber. The tribute nodded and let her lead him through another curtain and into another room. Without a sound, she went back through the curtains, leaving only the ghost of her hand on his arm left—making him hardly aware of her absence.

"Hello, Eleven," a deep, nasally voice greeted with obvious glee. "I'm ever so happy you were reaped; I've heard a lot about you." Gryffon merely nodded and stared at the man who slowly walked toward him. This room was larger and darker, leaving only a spotlight over a single body-length mirror in the center of the room. From what he could see, Gryffon noticed a few racks on the far side of the room, which he guessed held Canworm's finished and created designs.

"Glad to hear that," Gryffon answered without surprise, raising a brow when Canworm stopped directly in front of him. The man had incredibly pale skin and his tattoos covered half his face and seemed to trail down that same side on his torso. The intricate patterns made up of swirls and stripes slowly changed color from blue, green, to red. He simply wore a jeans vest with a red pair of jeans, which greatly contradicted with his shortly cropped, pink-dyed hair.

"Mhm! Lovely, lovely!" he mused with a slight smirk which lit up red as the tattoo changed color. "You heard of this year's parade, correct?"

"Not really," Gryffon said as he let Canworm pull him toward the mirror. The man fussed with Gryffon's hair for a moment, defining the spikes Summer had already created by sharpening them and making them almost resemble razor-like feathers. When he finished with that, Gryffon was fitted into a skin-tight shirt that loosened up at the sleeves, defining his biceps before it gradually sagged down by his wrists. Meggings that followed the same concept was forced onto him, and the idea of the outfit so far was not appealing to Gryffon in the least. "So what is this ridiculous thing for? I heard of a theme—what is it?"

"A more elegant take on a masquerade," Canworm answered as he adjusted the fabric along Gryffon's shoulders a bit. "We were allowed to show off our tributes or their districts. We took advantage of your names and decided you'd play those personalities."

"What personality?" A long, king-like robe was fastened around his shoulders and draped dramatically over his arms. The collar of the robe was covered in a soft, fur-like material that reminded him of a lion's mane—and convinced him even more so that it was a lion's mane when he noticed that the fur circled around his shoulders and neck and ended in a tapering, rounded shape in the center of his back. The robe itself seemed to be split in three: the left was covered in dark gold and brown feathers, the center was the amber color of his shirt and pants, and the right, too, was splotched with royal feathers. The feathered parts were the sides that fell over his arms, which made it look like Gryffon had wings.

"A griffin's and a blue jay's, of course," Canworm mused, rolling his eyes. "Griffin: strong, wise, vengeful. Blue jay: intelligence, fearless, and faithful. Perfect pair." The stylist smirked a green smirked and nudged a pair of gold boots toward him. "Don't you think?" Gryffon clipped them on and looked up at himself in the mirror. The outfit had looked so simple and ridiculous at first glance, but now that he actually let his eyes settle on it, Gryffon could see how wrong he had been. The shirt seemed to glow and swell with an almost scarlet light, and he noticed how, depending on where the light hit, the outfit made it seem as if there was shimmering fur over his body.

"Sure," he finally responded, lifting an arm slightly, smirking when the feathers on the robe ruffled and arranged themselves as if he were readying to take flight. "So we're all being prepared for a masquerade?"

"Correct," Canworm turned toward his supplies and pulled out a mask that had a pair of miniature arching wings that sprouted from the edges of the eyes. From the bottom center of the mask curved the eagle's beak, which gleamed its trademark yellow-gold color. "You and Jay will put these on the moment you pull out to where you're visible. Remember this will be the first time the sponsors see you. Look confident."

Gryffon blinked as Canworm simply touched the mask to Gryffon's head and it stuck there. "No string?"

"Nonsense, child, this is the Capitol! Us stylists have our ways," he chimed with a small laugh. "Come . . . It's almost time."


	6. Show Dog

Before he even realized he had started moving, the elevator dinged open and he let himself walk onto a pearl-white floor that was surrounded by dark navy curtains. Around a metal table lay a couple of rolling desks that you would expect a hair stylist or salon owner to have.

"Oh! You look even better in person!"

Uhg! Yet another Capitolite. How . . . fun.

Gryffon raised a brow in the direction of the voice and tilted his head down to look at the four-foot tall, purple-hued lady that stood before him now. "Uhm . . . "

"Honey, come, come, come!" She took hold of his hand and pulled him toward the metal table where two other people now stood around, each with their own strange skin color. The taller of the three, who seemed to stand around five-nine, had a rainbow gradient hue to her skin, whereas the man seemed to be dyed a light purple color that wasn't quite lavender yet.

"That's Summer, Joyce, and I'm Mira!" the little purple stylist giggled as she pointed to each of them, resting her other hand on Gryffon's arm. The tribute sighed, already annoyed at her shrilly voice. It was similar to Vinyel's . . . Damn, there was no getting away from the man. Or these oddly colored people . . .

Mira giggled and tugged a bit on Gryffon's shirt. "Go on, dear, don't wanna hold us up, right?" He stared down at the little person, confused for a moment as to what she meant.

Right . . . They had to make him "Capitol presentable" . . . Uhg.

The tribute sighed and gently swatted the woman's hand away from him before he pulled his shirt over his head. "Completely . . ?" He asked, though not nearly as hesitant as he could've been.

"Sure," Joyce responded with a little laugh, rolling his caramel eyes. In seconds Gryffon stripped, and was pushed back onto the metal table by Mira. He would be their guinea pig for the next hour or so, and as amusing the thought was to the fifteen-year old, he wasn't exactly pleased with the idea.

Summer busied herself in lathering the hot wax over the areas they had been taught to make completely hair-free—which was relatively everywhere besides the tribute's face, unless needed. Gryffon blinked a bit in surprise, not having expected something so warm. As first it wasn't uncomfortable at all, the warmth of the wax was actually soothing, and when Joyce went ahead with the waxing tape, nothing was much different. Until the damned thing was actually pulled.

Gryffon grimaced and flinched a bit, or at least as much as the table would allow. "The—" He cut himself off, biting his tongue to keep from finishing the cuss.

"It's going to hurt," Mira warned a moment before Joyce pulled again. Gryffon was tensed already, but not exactly prepared for it. How the hell was this normal!?

"Gee, thanks for telling me," he growled, his voice tapering off into a groan when again the hairs tore off his leg. What was with the Capitol? Did they have something against hair? It was a natural thing . . . Then again, the Capitol seemed against natural things, so...never mind.

Twenty sore minutes later, Gryffon was basically numb from waist down, and had just stopped complaining by the time they massaged a cream into his skin that would keep any hair from growing back for a couple of weeks until the Games were over. Being a show dog was a lot harder than it looked. "Done . . ?" He mumbled when Joyce backed off and Summer decided to step up. Without answering, she placed a delicate hand on his shoulder and sat him up, smiling gently.

"Almost," she murmured. There was something in her light brown eyes that gave her a sort of sad appearance, but her smile spoke otherwise. She ran her hand through his hair and the smile grew wider. Summer gave an excited sounding giggle and reached around to the rolling desk to grab scissors. She made seemingly quick work with his hair, cutting it so the fringes wouldn't hang so messily over his eyes, and shortened it a bit while still allowing his hair to keep the controlled messy look that reached the base of his head in the back. "The next part might not be so fun, but the gel smells nice."

Gel? Gryffon echoed, watching her as she curled her hand into a jar of a green liquid-resembling thing. When he noticed it piled up neatly on her finger tips, he decided to compare it to a sort of jelly, because, besides the color, it looked exactly like the jelly his mother would make sometimes.

Summer went around him and started to pull his hair back with her free hand while gradually applying the gel to it. She was right, it did smell nice, and to him, the scent seemed to resemble an orchard. Whether that was intentional on her part or not, he didn't know, but it certainly calmed him. The smell of home . . . He had to get back, that's all he thought of at the moment.

"What are you doing?" Gryffon asked curiously, blinking out of the momentary daze, realizing it felt like she was pulling his hair up in small portions.

"It'll go with the outfit Canworm designed for you," she answered . . . sort of.

"Okay, but what exactly—"

"Patience, boy," Mira interrupted with a giggle as she took hold of his hand and started to work on his nails. "You'll see soon enough." He rolled his eyes, having forgotten about the chipmunk-voiced woman. Whatever . . .

Summer finished after a few more minutes and glanced down at Mira once she finished as well. "Anything else?" The purple hued stylist stepped back and stared at Gryffon, a smile never leaving her face, but her eyes were quizzical. It was as if he were a new kind of mutt that had to be studied in order to be deemed perfect— the feeling was both comfortable and awkward.

"I think we're done," she mused in an almost musical tone. "Fast for an outer district," Mira added for the hell of it with a smug smile.

_"God, you're so fucking stupid!"_

"For doing what!? The only one being stupid here is you! You don't fucking try to understand one fucking thing I fucking say—"

"Do not speak to me like that!" A hand flew across a couple of feet and struck Gryffon's face, sending him stumbling back. "You're going to throw everything away for nothing_!"_

"Trying to make something of this damned life is throwing everything away_!?" Gryffon retorted, staring into his father's eyes, not caring that the man took it as a challenge. His face stung and his jaw was fixed in a painful clench, but he wasn't going to pull back away. Not again. The man had been so unreasonable for so long. He was tired of it! "What am I doing that you don't approve of!? Huh? What is it this time?"_

"Planning to volunteer for that fucking thing—"

"I thought you liked that 'fucking thing'! I'm doing this damned thing for you!" he snarled. "You're the one who asked me to!" Of course he was drunk. He was always drunk when he wasn't on duty. Gryffon would rather he never get breaks. He could learn how to shoot and how to fight on his own. His friends could easily teach him—they'd screw around often enough to know how to dodge a close call and to start fights without getting themselves too hurt. He didn't need his father. He didn't need this Capitol activist teaching him how to act like another Peacekeeper. He certainly didn't need a crazy, drunk father trying to discipline him by reversing everything he had grown up with.

"I said don't speak to me like that!" Again his hand came down, this time punching Gryffon in the shoulder, pushing him back against the wall. His head slammed against it, causing his vision to distort for a second.

"Fuck you, damnit!" A year ago, Gryffon would never think of saying this to his father. Mostly for the sake of Stephen so he wouldn't become a target, too. Their dad wasn't all that bad. He was just violent when drunk, and Gryffon could understand that. But it was annoying. False mother and crazy father. He was really only fun when he was teaching them how to throw a punch or how to kick, but damn, even when drunk and with bad aim he was powerful.

"No fucking thirteen-year old's gonna speak to me like that, got it?" Gryffon had time to look up at him and catch the dark scowl before the man's foot met his chest. With a groan, he slammed against the wall, stuck between wood and an army boot. His breath came short and it was like his lungs forgot how to pump air and his eyes forgot how to see. Colors mashed together and swirled in his vision, trapping him in a nauseating, vomit-colored world for a moment.

"No fucking show dog will talk to me like that, got it, you little shit?"

Show dog. Oh, of course. Going into the Games would mean parading for everyone to see. To be scrutinized and fixed until he looked and matched the Capitol's expectations. But wasn't that was his father was? Another cute little show dog put in a white suit, tied up with a pretty little bow to be marched down the street with a huge _**CAPITOL PROPERTY**__ sign on his chest? Who was the little shit here, really? That's what Gryffon wondered. The _wonderful_, big-shot role model, or the kid who only wanted to please the critics?_

"Fuck you . . . " Gryffon choked, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. "I want respect."

"And so does every other damned person in this district." He pressed his foot harder against his son's chest, smiling when another loud groan escaped Gryffon's lips. "And you aren't doing yourself a favor by trying to please them."

"Is Eleven usually so hard?" Gryffon asked, his voice cracking a bit. He blinked himself out of the memory, trying to keep the hard look in his eyes as he forced an equally smug smile. "'Cause I assure you my districtmate will be as much trouble as I was." Mira laughed at that, and maybe a little too much, he noted, as the tears sprung to her eyes.

"Okay, okay, Canworm should be ready," Summer piped up, resting her hand on his shoulder again. "Ready, kid?" He glanced at her for a second, surprised to see how bright her eyes were—it was almost as if they were glowing amber. The tribute nodded and let her lead him through another curtain and into another room. Without a sound, she went back through the curtains, leaving only the ghost of her hand on his arm left—making him hardly aware of her absence.

"Hello, Eleven," a deep, nasally voice greeted with obvious glee. "I'm ever so happy you were reaped; I've heard a lot about you." Gryffon merely nodded and stared at the man who slowly walked toward him. This room was larger and darker, leaving only a spotlight over a single body-length mirror in the center of the room. From what he could see, Gryffon noticed a few racks on the far side of the room, which he guessed held Canworm's finished and created designs.

"Glad to hear that," Gryffon answered without surprise, raising a brow when Canworm stopped directly in front of him. The man had incredibly pale skin and his tattoos covered half his face and seemed to trail down that same side on his torso. The intricate patterns made up of swirls and stripes slowly changed color from blue, green, to red. He simply wore a jeans vest with a red pair of jeans, which greatly contradicted with his shortly cropped, pink-dyed hair.

"Mhm! Lovely, lovely!" he mused with a slight smirk which lit up red as the tattoo changed color. "You heard of this year's parade, correct?"

"Not really," Gryffon said as he let Canworm pull him toward the mirror. The man fussed with Gryffon's hair for a moment, defining the spikes Summer had already created by sharpening them and making them almost resemble razor-like feathers. When he finished with that, Gryffon was fitted into a skin-tight shirt that loosened up at the sleeves, defining his biceps before it gradually sagged down by his wrists. Meggings that followed the same concept was forced onto him, and the idea of the outfit so far was not appealing to Gryffon in the least. "So what is this ridiculous thing for? I heard of a theme—what is it?"

"A more elegant take on a masquerade," Canworm answered as he adjusted the fabric along Gryffon's shoulders a bit. "We were allowed to show off our tributes or their districts. We took advantage of your names and decided you'd play those personalities."

"What personality?" A long, king-like robe was fastened around his shoulders and draped dramatically over his arms. The collar of the robe was covered in a soft, fur-like material that reminded him of a lion's mane—and convinced him even more so that it was a lion's mane when he noticed that the fur circled around his shoulders and neck and ended in a tapering, rounded shape in the center of his back. The robe itself seemed to be split in three: the left was covered in dark gold and brown feathers, the center was the amber color of his shirt and pants, and the right, too, was splotched with royal feathers. The feathered parts were the sides that fell over his arms, which made it look like Gryffon had wings.

"A griffin's and a blue jay's, of course," Canworm mused, rolling his eyes. "Griffin: strong, wise, vengeful. Blue jay: intelligence, fearless, and faithful. Perfect pair." The stylist smirked a green smirked and nudged a pair of gold boots toward him. "Don't you think?" Gryffon clipped them on and looked up at himself in the mirror. The outfit had looked so simple and ridiculous at first glance, but now that he actually let his eyes settle on it, Gryffon could see how wrong he had been. The shirt seemed to glow and swell with an almost scarlet light, and he noticed how, depending on where the light hit, the outfit made it seem as if there was shimmering fur over his body.

"Sure," he finally responded, lifting an arm slightly, smirking when the feathers on the robe ruffled and arranged themselves as if he were readying to take flight. "So we're all being prepared for a masquerade?"

"Correct," Canworm turned toward his supplies and pulled out a mask that had a pair of miniature arching wings that sprouted from the edges of the eyes. From the bottom center of the mask curved the eagle's beak, which gleamed its trademark yellow-gold color. "You and Jay will put these on the moment you pull out to where you're visible. Remember this will be the first time the sponsors see you. Look confident."

Gryffon blinked as Canworm simply touched the mask to Gryffon's head and it stuck there. "No string?"

"Nonsense, child, this is the Capitol! Us stylists have our ways," he chimed with a small laugh. "Come . . . It's almost time."


	7. Welcome to the Masquerade

Gryffon and Jay were led to the basement of the Remake Center where the Avenue of the Tributes was; the impatient cheering of the Capitol was audible even behind the grand doors that separated the paraders from the sponsors' view. "Nervous?" Jay murmured at his side as their stylists left their side to go . . . wherever they went for the parade. Gryffon sighed a bit. Just by her tone of voice, he could tell she was anxious. Now was _not_ the time to decide to get nervous . . .  
They started toward the back of the line where Eleven's chariot ride awaited. Jay's prep team had cut her hair in layers—the longest part of it resting just above her shoulders, or so Jay claimed. Her team had gelled her hair up in an arch, which reminded Gryffon of both a blue jay and Mockingjay—both befitting his districtmate.

"Not really," he shrugged finally, glancing down at Jay quickly with a smirk. "You can_actually_ pull that off." Her entire outfit mimicked the make-up of a jay, from the white body paint to the feather detail on her sleeve-cape. Even the tailcoat she wore curved back, almost like a dress, at her waist so the tail of the of the suit made up the tail of the bird-like illusion.

"Thanks," she mumbled, jumping onto the chariot, her black boots clicking on it faintly. "Maple, my stylist, told me that we were opposites in appearance." Gryffon blinked up at her now, his lips pressed into a line. She was pale—paler now—in skin and even her outfit was made up of cool and dark colors that showed a bird's elegance whereas his sparked with warmth and bragged about a griffin's strength. She looked agile and gentle, yet surprisingly sly, especially with her darkly eyelined eyes that only brought out her crazily bright irises more; he had a much darker look to him, making him look threatening rather than beautiful.  
But opposites in appearance wasn't the only thing they contradicted in, Gryffon was sure.

"The Capitol will love it," he commented bluntly, hopping on beside her, letting his features relax into a small smile. "They'll love us. They have to." And oh, they better . . .

Around them what tributes were left began to enter and arrange themselves in their pairs. Four was decorated to look like flowing waves, and Twelve like burning ashes and coal—no surprise there. Three sparke up with flashing lights, and so did Six with their traffic light attire. Seven was interesting, having vines make up with suit and ball gown. Sapphire of One was practically bedazzled and Denim, too, contrasted with her sparkling look with the dark and deadly get up he had of a soot-colored suit with diamonds embedded into it that seemed to spark up with color at random times—as did Sapphire's jewels. They looked like royalty, clearly showing off who was king and queen there. Well, that'd be up to the Capitol to decide. The clothes the wore could easily go for the interviews, too. So maybe the sponsors wouldn't like that?

"Take a look around at the sea of masks and come one, come all!" Claudius Templesmith's voice raged over the enthusiastic crowd, his voice reaching even the tribute in the back. A deep sigh heaved in Gryffon's chest, impatience starting to prick at him. Couldn't they just go? Introductions? Really? They're kidding, right? "Welcome to the grand ball where the strong run for cover and the weak stand tall!" Fitting, really. The underdogs had a chance to show off. A smirk broke Gryffon's somewhat serious smile, lighting his eyes up. Definitely. They were going to stand tall—they would show the Capitol and Panem they were strong! He would. He knew he would. He _had_ no other choice.

One's horses suddenly lurched forward as the doors opened, seeming to throw laughs and kisses to people in the crowd, but Gryffon didn't care for that. He didn't care for anyone's show but theirs.  
Two  
Three  
Four . . .  
Careers gone—now for the outer districts. Oh, this would be fun, yes . . .  
Five  
Six  
Seven. . .  
It was like a countdown. Their lives would all have limits and timers set to them. Might as well start counting down now.  
Eight  
Nine

"Don't be afraid," Jay echoed the words her stylist had told her, letting her black-gloved fingers intertwine with Gryffon's.

The only one acting afraid here was her. The only one heeding useless words was her.

Ten . . .

"Don't be ashamed . . . "

She had no reason to be. She looked beautiful. And if the message was for him, then she was quite mistaken to even think he'd be anywhere near ashamed.

"_I_ can do this . . . " Edge. There was an edge to her voice.  
She wasn't being fair. She knew he wasn't the one she had to blame. Of course she could do it. No one was stopping her. No one was stopping at _this_ point. Not yet.

Eleven.

He gently squeezed her hand, the heat of the lights on his attire beginning to spread over his chest and torso—showing off a new illusion he hadn't noticed: the fur and feathers glowed warmly, truly giving each of them a powerful air. Each of their feathers especially shined, shimmering and making it look like they were in mid-flight with the slight breeze coming from the Avenue as they started toward the doors.

Through the arch they went, and the moments the cameras were on their faces, Jay and Gryffon pulled their masks down, not allowing anyone to catch a glimpse of their faces. Eyes and mouths visible now—that's all.

They lifted their heads once the cheering burst right beside their ears, and as one, stood tall and proud.

"Welcome to the masquerade, Gryff'," Jay murmured as her wings fluttered up gracefully with her wave. Gryffon mirrored her movement, his eyes almost visibly shining an emerald color when he saw the robe fluttered back behind him, copying her feathers with the glimmering motion.

Gryffon caught several glances of Jay and him projected onto the big screen, which only made him feel even bigger here. They were almost, _almost_, getting more attention than One. They rivaled a Career in the parade already . . . He couldn't help but smile at that thought, and frankly, couldn't help but feel like they very much deserved it. Living in a crappy district—they deserved all this attention, finally: the positive attention. The positive bets.

"Hello, tributes!"

The chariots curved along the end of the Avenue, forming their semi-circle in the City Circle that laid under the President's balcony. He gave a short speech, congratulating the tributes for a great parade, and wishing them the best of luck and with a last "Let the odds be_ever_ in your favor!", Snow left the scene and allowed the chariots to circle one more time before entering the door that led to the basement of the Training Center.

The speech was obviously insincere, but it still encouraged Gryffon. Snow had said the same speech for sixty-five years, and it would probably never change, but it still made the tribute feel powerful, as if he actually had a chance. A one in twenty-four chance, but still a chance.

Gryffon helped Jay off the carriage and kept her hand in his once she was off. Her fingers tightened around his as they let the pair of Twelve pass by with their stylists, escort, and mentor. A moment after, a high pitched voice greeted, "beautiful children!" Vinyel rushed forward, pulling Jay into a hug before urging Gryffon toward him. "Lovely!" The tribute pulled back and rolled his eyes, catching the dim light's reflection and the slightly amber glow of his attire.

"Ooh, Gryffon, that's so—"

"Leave him be, Vinyel," Annabelle said quietly, resting her hand on the escort's shoulder. The teen rolled his eyes and looked toward the two stylists who stood beside each other silently. They both had high cheek bones, small eyes and lips, tall stature. The only difference between them, apparently, was gender, hair length, and the side of their body their tattoos were on.

Canworm stepped up, Maple a foot behind him. "You two did wonderfully; I loved the unison—you two made it seem as if it wasn't rehearsed," Gryffon's stylist complimented. He wanted to say how it _hadn't_ been rehearsed or planned, but whatever . . . Not like it'd change much, anyway.

Jay nodded a bit and murmured a small thank you before the Capitol attendants firmly ushered them toward the elevators. Gryffon scoffed, saying a rough goodbye to their team before nudging Jay toward the elevators. They walked toward the first one, hardly aware they were still hand-in-hand—hardly aware that a third body shuffled in beside them. The moment the doors closed and Gryffon turned, his glare fixated on the new girl and narrowed.

"Uhg," he groaned, rolling his eyes in a rather exaggerated manner. Before he could press the button for the elevator to reopen and tell her to get out, Jay spoke up.

"What is it, Gryff?"

The elevator suddenly shook to a stop, and those cheeky eyes flickered up to Jay, then Gryffon. "He's just pissy . . ? Are you pissy? Or _excited_? _Hungry_? People don't usually moan otherwise."

"None of the above. Let it go," he mumbled, nodding at the floor buttons. She turned her head up toward Gryffon, flashing a pearl-white smile. Her ocean green eyes were defined by the royal blue eyeliner and eyeshadow that she had on, and the shining white feil that held her hair back before reconnecting with her dress at her waist simply outlined her model-like face and figure. The Career's dress dipped down in a low sweetheart neckline lined with rubies; the silky fabric was topped with a floral lace design, and embedded in the fabric were actual sapphires, clearly naming who it was that wore the dress. The waistline was lined with small, pearl-shaped emeralds, and all-in-all, she shimmered like the jewel she was decorated to look like. The dress trailed back almost like a wedding dress, the veil spreading back even farther once it disconnected from her hips whereas the front of the dress reached just above her knees. Even her mask gave her a princess look to her, being no bigger than the space around her eyes and gleaming as brightly as the jewels on her body.

"Don't think so," she giggled, watching his eyes as it traveled over her. "Impressed?"

Gryffon shook his head, "not really, you look like you're a bride's maid in an overly exaggerated dress that was meant for the bride of clowns." Completely distracted by her close presence, he forgot about the elevator, and in all honesty, he was impressed. But Sapphire probably wouldn't have to be all dressed up for her to catch his eye.

"Start the damned elevator," Jay snapped, tightening her hand around Gryffon's, making him grimace slightly. "There's no point in just standing here." Sapphire laughed, letting her gloved hand brush across Gryffon's chest and she leaned down closer to Jay.

"What are you even supposed to be, dear?" she sneered, smirking.

"I said move," Jay let go of her district partner's hand and stepped toward Sapphire, shouldering her. "Want me to say it again? Slower maybe? _Move_, princess."

The Career merely rolled her eyes and leaned slightly against Gryffon, shaking her head a bit as she laid her head against his shoulder. "How cute." Her hair curled slightly under the veil, and with the lights reflecting off the rubies on her dress, her cheeks and the locks of her hair were tinged red.

"_Cute_ . . . " Jay practically spat the word before she slammed the base of her palm against Sapphire's shoulder, shoving her against the wall. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Staring at your god-ugly face," she growled, wrenching herself away from Jay, pulling the blue-eyed girl closer before kneeing her stomach. When Jay stumbled back, Gryffon pulled her beside him and pressed the button to finally release the elevator. "Bye," he sighed as the doors opened on the first floor, his tone almost audibly annoyed. Sapphire giggled and pushed off the wall; as she passed Jay, the Career lifted her hand and pat the girl's head, allowing the both of them to catch the deadly glint in the green depths. "See you, babe," she purred quietly, shoving Jay back slightly as she left. The doors closed behind her and Gryffon pressed the **11 **for their floor, glancing down at Jay when she jerked away from him and practically slammed herself into the wall.

The brooding teen completely avoided his gaze and went to the corner farthest from him, her eyes narrowed to small, circular slits behind the mask. He noticed her jaw was clenched and she had crossed her arms tightly around her center, clutching her sides, visibly trying to hold back the tears that were putting a clear film of moisture in her eyes.

"You okay?" Gryffon asked quietly, glancing down at her. Jay's pearly glare flickered up and met his eyes. Behind the black jay's mask and dark eye-liner, her blue eyes looked almost white, and visibly angry . . . or upset.

"J_u_st fine."

"Sorry, Jay, I-"

"No, shh, you're my _hero_. _Thank_ you." Her voice was growling and an icy silence followed her obviously sarcastic words.

_Sixth floor_

_Seventh floor_

The space between each floor seemed to stretch and stretch, making the floors seem farther than the last. She still glared at him, he could feel her eyes bearing into the back of his head, but he merely faced the doors and kept his gaze down at the ground. He didn't do anything, but that was probably her exact issue at the moment. He didn't do anything to get the Career off, or away, when she started playing around. But Jay overreacted. If she had just left it, Sapphire would've gotten bored and just left them alone.  
But why choose _them_ to bother, of all the tributes?

_Ninth floor_

_Tenth floor_

A sigh left Gryffon's lips and he rolled his eyes, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling. There was a peculiar swirling pattern, making it look like the darker swirls were going in circles around the lighter, silver swirls only to meet up again in the center; but the design was so subtle, it was almost impossible to follow.

_Eleventh floor_

DING  
"You have arrived on the Eleventh Floor,"

an airy Capitol accent announced, breaking the quiet between the two.

When the doors opened finally, Jay rushed past him and started to pull off the mask and tailcoat that draped over her back.

"Jay, what—"

"Shut up, Vinyel, she's not in the mood," Gryffon cut him off, blinking once she let the feathers that connected to her shirt and sleeve drop before branching off into the first room marked **TRIBUTE**. "We ran into One in the elevator . . . " Anabelle sighed from her place against the wall and looked up at him, raising a brow.

"Sure, Gryffon . . . Go change," the young woman ordered, waving him off. The tribute gritted his teeth and started toward the room opposite Jay's, feeling Anabelle's hard glare on him the entire time.  
Girls and their staring . . . Didn't they get it became uncomfortably hot and stung after a while?


	8. Warning? Oh please

Gryffon sighed and ran a hand through his softened and slightly damp hair. He glanced up at the large, wall-sized window before him that he had set to show the many neon and pastel lights of the Capitol. Beyond the many tall and dome buildings rose the mountains that surrounded the Capitol like inanimate guard dogs. They acted like protection, like a cage. Gryffon knew this but he didn't feel trapped. He felt more free here than at home where you couldn't walk ten feet without running into a Peacekeeper. Most of all Gryffon enjoyed the absence of his mother. He had grown used to her ignorance, and had started to find her silence toward him comforting- but could not stand her trying to talk to him. Trying to give him any sort of attention after all these years of hardly even looking at him. It aggravated him . . . So much.

"Gryff'?"

The tribute glanced over his shoulder and saw the outline of someone at the door. Both the hall and the room's lights were off and dark, making it difficult to identify who it was. The voice was too soft to even hear correctly . . . Let alone allow him to tell who it was. "Yeah . . ?"

Silence followed the hesitant answer, but he felt the bed shift behind his back as someone climbed over it to reach him. A cold hand was placed atop his bare shoulder and the bed finally settled. "Hey . . . "

Too soft . . . The voice was too soft and too slurred . . . The rancid scent of alcohol wafted toward him, and as his eyes narrowed at the smell, Gryffon pulled away from the hand and turned around so he could lean back against the window. "What do you want?"

"To talk. Warn you," she giggled, crossing her arms in front of her chest before resting her chin over them. "You're a silly boy, and silly boys need to be warned."

"You didn't look like the drinking type to me," he answered evasively, raising a brow at the dark-haired mentor. That smell . . . God, even here? A year away from the smelly thing had been wonderful, why did she have to drink?  
Her light green eyes flickered up to him and reflected the bit of light that filtered in from the Capitol through the window, seeming to make that analytical look of hers sharpen.

"And you didn't seem like the insomnia-typical type person to me," Annabelle slurred, shaking her head as she laughed a bit, causing her black locks to fall over her eyes. "You need help." She pointed at him, and almost as if she were trying to reach out to him, spread her fingers. "C'mere." Gryffon shook his head slightly, merely staring back at her. No, he'd rather stay right where he was . . . For the time being all he needed to see was her face and arms . . .  
"C'mere! Now, Gryff' . . . "

"Don't call me that," he said firmly, still not moving toward her small hand, which was still outstretched toward him.

"So c'mere! Gryff'! Gryff'! Gryff'! Gryff'! Gryff'-"

"Fuck, shut up," the tribute growled under his breath, inching forward so her fingertips brushed through his hair. "Better now?"

"No." Annabelle's fingers looped into his hair and she tugged at the locks a bit. "Closer. I-I need to tell you something!" Gryffon sighed an pushed her arm away, leaning back away from her.

"You've got nothing to say, you're acting like a five-year old," the tribute snapped in a whisper, narrowing his eyes further.

"No! Gryffon!" she wined, pushing herself closer to the edge of the bed to reach him, but the widow was too far for her to manage to get him. "It's . . . It's important . . . It makes me sad, though." He sighed again and allowed himself to move close enough so her hand could rest over his head.

"Go on . . . "

"You're screwed," she started with a giggle, letting her hand trail down to his cheek, tilting his head up so Gryffon's eyes were forced to meet hers. "You're abusing something you don't know. You're wanting to keep something you wouldn't want. You don't even trust your little self, do ya'?" Again Annabelle laughed and pulled him closer. "C'mere."

"I don't want to listen to your bull-" she cut him off by forcefully pulling his hair, repeating her demand for him to get closer, which he had no choice but to obey unless he wanted to get his hair pulled off. Her words were edged with giggles, and when he finally leaned against the bed, close enough to her that she could lay her head over his, he decided she had no idea what she was talking about. She was playing with her words and thoughts like his father had when he got drunk, only difference was that Annabelle seemed to get playful rather than hateful.

"Anything else you'd like to say to brighten up my night?" Gryffon asked tiredly and sarcastically, not looking at his mentor. But even that seemed like a chore. She was _right_there, after all.

"I have a question actually," Annabelle purred, nuzzling into his smooth hair. "Are you gonna leave me so bored?"


	9. Axes, Axes--

"The fuck . . ?"

"Ah, nice of you to join us, Annabelle!" Vinyel greeted, waving at her mostly nude form from the table. "What were you doing in there?" Gryffon chuckled and pushed back from the table, trying to keep a smirk from showing.

"I wish I—"

"What time is it? Shouldn't we get going?" Gryffon suggested in an evasive manner, looking toward the escort. "I kind of wanna try my hand a spear before Four takes over." Jay shot him an annoyed glance as she played with the bit of food on the plate in front of her. Her pupils narrowed suspiciously, though she simply got up to her feet and turned her steely gaze to Annabelle.

"May we go?"

"Uh, yeah, fine with me," the mentor sighed and nodded a bit at Gryffon. "Yeah, go ahead, guys." She rubbed her head and glanced up at Vinyel, her expression a mixture of annoyance and amusement. "This fucking headache—"

"You wouldn't have it if you listened to me, but _noooo_," he laughed as he got to his feet as well, waving his tributes toward the elevator. Before they were given the chance to make their own way over, Vinyel went and pushed them toward the door and pressed the button to get the doors open. Once inside, Jay retreated to the edge of the confined space and avoided both of the men's eyes. "So what exactly happened yesterday, children? You still look a bit bitter."

"Gryffon already told you that we ran into One," Jay replied begrudgingly, not looking at either of them. "Though," she started, shooting a look toward Gryffon. "I _am_ curious to know what Annabelle was doing in your room with only her underwear on."

"I don't know," Gryffon answered innocently, though only barely containing his grin. "She waddled in there, fell on my bed, and curled up asleep. I left and hung about the couch, and to be honest, it's just about as comfortable as the bed was." Jay pursed her lips, but merely nodded with little conviction. Gryffon just rolled his eyes at her quizzical expression and faced the doors again. Her problem if she didn't believe him, not his. "I did promise you I wouldn't care, remember, Jay? Mentors included."

The elevator doors opened and Gryffon stepped out, allowing himself to walk straight toward the crowd of tributes that had begun to form near the middle of the room. "Plus, she's not exactly my type," he mumbled under his breath as his eyes subconsciously searched for a few specific tributes. Pipsqueak from Nine, mutilated kid from One, the baby-faced pair from Four, the 'twins' from Three. The few that remained to join the forming circle were stepping out of the elevators now, leaving the large expanse of the Center seem somewhat crowded at the middle. Gryffon made a subconscious point to stand beside two of the Careers—Joshua and Denim—and wore as hard a look as they did. Denim didn't bother with even looking at Gryffon whereas Joshua looked up with an inquisitive glance.

"Excuse me!" A light hand touched Joshua's shoulder and he shifted aside to let the girl squeeze through. "Hello again!" Gryffon sighed and glanced down at the curly-haired Career who wore her smug smile proudly. "Excited?"

He answered with a silent shrug and let his eyes wander around the circle, using the excuse to find Jay to avoid Sapphire's eyes. He found her standing beside the girl from Nine and seemed to be exchanging a couple of words with the little tribute, both of them owning smiles on their faces. Gryffon rolled his eyes and turned back to the Career, "but I suppose you are?"

"Oh, I'm not anticipating much. My district had a Center very similar to this," Sapphire mused with a light smile. "You okay, honey?" Gryffon nodded and blinked once, finally focusing on her. It was almost as if her stylist had purposely given her a uniform one size too small. Every bit of her was outlined, and if she hadn't acted like such a bitch the day before, he'd think of playing things her way.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a bit . . . "

"Distracted?" she finished with a smirk. "I do that sometimes—" Oh great, she was cynical, too, "—sorry." Gryffon chuckled a bit at her manner, rolling his eyes. God, Careers were all the same . . .

"Your district partner doesn't seem to agree," he pointed out with a glance at Denim. Sapphire giggled and looped her arm around Joshua's waist, leaning her head on his shoulder.

"I don't need _him_! I've got Four's little cutie with me; right, Josh?" she chimed as she beamed up at the unusually tall boy. He seemed only a couple inches shy of Gryffon's height, and was probably as amused by Sapphire as Gryffon could imagine Jay being.

"I don't think we agreed on anything yet, Sapphire . . . " And though the boy said that with a tone similar to that of disgust, he glanced away with a very slight blush darkening his cheeks. "I told you all that I'm not too keen with the—"

"Attention tributes!" the head trainer cut in, silencing the few who had been talking. As soon as the woman began to speak, Gryffon let his eyes close and tune out her words just like he had gotten used to doing in reapings. The common sense instructions he imagined Atala give was ridiculous; any idiot born in Panem had the rules of the Games engraved into their head, they didn't need to be reminded all the time, especially after being reaped—or in his and most of the Careers' cases, volunteered. He sighed and looked back up at the woman as the speech ended. Obvious information is all that tumbled out of her mouth. _Don't kill the other tributes before the Games, learn as much as you can, trust no one, try not to jump off the roof._ They were instructions for the stupid.

"Have fun, hun'," Sapphire purred, patting his arm. "Catch ya' later?" Gryffon answered with a small shrug and turned away from her, though he had a possibly visible smirk on his lips which gave her enough of an answer.

"Gryff', wait!" He glanced over his shoulder to where Jay was walking toward him, her eyes narrowed to circular slits. "What are you going to work on first?"

"Weapons." Gryffon knew how to climb from working in the orchards, and had been pretty much forced to learn all about plants and herbs—especially medical ones for when they worked in the orchards in case a Tracker Jacker nest fell or someone disturbed the annoying creatures. And having his mother as a part-time healer, you're bound to learn the difference between a May Apple and Chamomile, and how that difference can mean life or death.

"What—"

"Dunno, Jay; I say we train separately," he sighed, nodding his hair from his eyes. "Probably close and long range. Don't know right now, don't care." Jay eyed him for a moment, a hesitant glint appearing within the blue depths of her silvery eyes. A sigh escaped her: a sign that she gave up. Or was just about there.

"Fine. Just don't kill anyone," she muttered, turning away from him. Gryffon didn't bother to see where she went; instead, he let his eyes scan the different stations to pick out one the Careers hadn't dominated yet. At once his eyes located the axes, and his smile widened. The scrawny Seven boy by the section held a thin black battle axe that he seemed to be struggling with slightly. The Eleven tribute watched as the boy stepped into an area that seemed to be part of the melee station, though it was partially secluded. A sparring area, far enough away so those choosing a weapon wouldn't lose a limb, but close and open enough for others to watch.

Gryffon stood by the racks of the heavy blades and watched as the boy stumbled a bit, let out a long exhale, and raised the axe to his shoulder, attempting to give off an intimidating air. A few seconds passed before a nasally Capitolite voice announced that his session would begin, and many orange lights in the form of small cubes surrounded the Seven boy. A holographic figure appeared in front of him: a lanky girl holding a spear. The body lunged forward, the spear shaft aimed toward Seven's chest. He stumbled around a bit, trying to simply avoid getting hit while using the blade of the axe to push the stronger hits away.

He was wasting his time trying to avoid the spear the entire time; either he advance intelligently soon, or he'd get speared. A real opponent would have seen the several openings by now—though it wasn't likely Gryffon had spotted them himself. He was simply mesmerized by the clumsy movements of the boy and the skillful hologram with a smirk on his face. The more time he spent watching, the more he remembered how much he admired the Capitol for their discipline methods. At least those shown in the Center.

"Crap!" The boy's eyes widened as another holographic figure appeared behind him, a spear being shoved into his back and through his stomach, finishing what the first orange body had managed to start. The session ended at that, leaving the boy panting there with a look of fear spread across his face, and drenched in his own sweat. Again the voice piped up and listed the things the boy could improve on, though it seemed to be spoken only loud enough for those who stood on the platform to hear. Gryffon watched as the Seven boy let out a perfectly audible sigh and turned back toward the racks, looking up at his audience with slight surprise. "What?"

"Nothing, just fingering through these," the fifteen-year old shrugged as he motioned toward the axes, watching as the boy placed the axe back with obvious relief. "You did good." Biggest lie of the year. Even if Gryffon couldn't personally point out everything the boy had done wrong, he knew that 'good' was not at all what the boy had done. But might as well play nice.

"Sure, thanks," he sighed, still staring at Gryffon skeptically. "What else?" The Eleven tribute laughed, shaking his head.

"Still nothing." He looked back toward the axes, deciding whether or not he should try out something so obviously heavy that even the kid who worked with the things found it difficult to use. But he had to learn something, and though he knew a knife would probably be easiest, it had never truly appealed to him much. Not to mention that anyone could use a knife to some extent if they really tried. "S'cuse me," Gryffon started, reaching toward the axe Seven had put down. Might as well try, so long as he didn't cut his own arm off.

Close combat was hardly a problem for him, but if he could learn to fight close-up _with_ an axe, then screw all the Careers and a possible—however unlikely—alliance with them; he could win on his own . . . Arrogantly thinking, of course.

"You . . . You know how to use that?" the boy asked. "I didn't know Eleven used axes . . . "

"We don't. I've never even touched one of these before," Gryffon smirked. The shaft felt surprisingly light in his hand; it was the head of the blade that caused most of the weight. But all-in-all, it didn't seem too hard to hold. He glanced at Seven's annoyed and confused expression before stepping around him and heading up to the platform. This was going to be an impossible feat if he managed to even wield it correctly, but he continuously repeated to himself that _trying_ it was the least he could do.

_"Fight session: Battle Axe. Commence."_

The orange body of another holographic image appeared in front of him, and as the lights crisscrossed around him, Gryffon outlined his focus strictly on the 'person'. They held nothing but a sword, but he figured that would only add to his already difficult-challenge. He sighed and gripped the shaft of the black weapon, his glare hardening when the body surged forward.

Gryffon closed his eyes for a second, trying to picture something more. Something to trigger . . . Not just determination, that would get him killed . . . He sighed, opened his eyes, and smirked. _The Training Center turned to a blank, snow-covered clearing with thirty-feet high fences covering two sides. Beyond the fence lay what Gryffon had always assumed to be a charred field and behind him was the abandoned orchard. The Victor's Tour would be later that day, and everyone was off work; it was one of the few snowy days Eleven got throughout the year, but despite the unusual cold, his father had taken advantage of it and the silence of the few moments before dawn._

Stephen stood in front of Gryffon, their father a few feet in front of them with a blank smile on his face. "What do you do now?"Gryffon side-stepped the hologram, reflexively slamming his elbow against the person's head, the orange cubes moving out of the way to show he had hit. His other hand swung over and though the movement was clumsy, the axe hit the center of the target's back, splitting the hologram down the middle.

_"And now?"_

"Move out of the way," he muttered under his breath, jumping back before the hologram could reiterate. The lights by his legs rearranged, and as he glanced over his shoulder, he saw another of the bodies had appeared. He rolled his eyes and moved his position so he stood facing the Gauntlet, watching both holograms. The one he had hit staggered back a bit, but seemed to recover and lunged again. Gryffon stepped back, narrowly missing a hit to the head by an orange-glowing dagger. "Fuck . . . " He felt his heart sink and his mind swirling. How was he supposed to take out two people at the same—

He felt a quick static pain rush up his arm as the fake sword sliced across his forearm, leaving a trail of orange light on his skin. With that one bit of hesitation, two more strikes of pain hit his shoulder, then chest. Ah, he'd be screwed if these were real people and weapons . . .

Gryffon glanced at the swordsman before ramming into the knife-thrower, pushing them back enough for him to be able to swing the axe toward their neck. He assumed the holograph was beheaded as soon as another pain sliced straight down his back; in a flurry, he turned and punched through the head of the other cubed target, taking the next moment to cut through its stomach with the axe.

_Fight Session: Battle Axe. Cease._

The holograms disappeared in as quick a flash as they had shown up and the voice took the time to go on about what he could have done. Mostly about his stance and how much force he put behind the axe, wrist movements especially.

Which he was fine with . . . It was better than listening to his father banter on about how useless he and Stephen were. Whatever . . .

With a sigh, Gryffon started another session, not even bothering to watch the time go by; when he realized he was exhausted and his arm could hardly hold the weapon up anymore, most of the outer district tributes had left, including Jay. Most of Careers remained, as well as the pair from Seven, Eight, Ten, and then himself.

He stepped down, dropping the axe back onto the rack before heading toward the elevator, completely ignoring Sapphire who tried to call his attention from the other side of the room. The annoying Career, however lovely she tried to seem, was not worth the trouble when he was already half-way falling apart mentally and physically. _Survival crap tomorrow . . . _Gryffon muttered inwardly once he stepped into the elevator.

He rose up to the eleventh floor, blinking at Annabelle and Vinyel who sat on the plush green couch, their eyes strained on the television intently until he showed up. The young mentor seemed to pause what was playing and flicked her dark eyes over to him, raising a brow. "Where's Jay? She didn't come up with you?"

"I was about to ask you that," he answered, slight confusion coming through his tone. "I thought she had come up already, actually . . . " Vinyel answered that comment with an enthusiastic shake of his head before waving Gryffon over.

"Who cares? She probably just doesn't wanna hang around here with us tonight, the silly girl. Come watch this with us?" Gryffon narrowed his eyes, but nevertheless dragged his feet over to the couch, letting himself practically fall back on it beside Vinyel. "We're watching the recaps of a few Games—we're on Trace Brun of District Four, now." Immediately interest sparked up in Gryffon's eyes and almost complete concern for Jay vanished. Of course the Four victor was tons more interesting to worry about than his mood-swinging friend who, until now, had only shown interest in hating on everyone there.

"What part?"

"Adin," Vinyel laughed, leaning back and stretching his arms across the top of the couch. Annabelle sighed and leaned back, though nothing about her gaze showed as much interest in watching the Games over again—unlike Gryffon. Why he was so enthusiastic about it all was beyond her, but maybe it was a good thing . . . Thinking he'd die would kill him the first day . . . But being stupid wouldn't do him much good in the long run, anyway.


	10. Easier Times -- Or Not

Five years ago had marked the victory of one of Four's more famous victors: Trace Brun. He won by acting on vengeance and lost an eye in the process. Five years ago may have complicated things for the Career victor, but for many, things were still so simple— innocent even —despite the world they lived in. There was no intense training happening in the outer, or less favored districts; kids, however abused, could still smile and laugh at the smallest of things— daily events could even be considered easier, simpler, and maybe even less stressful . . . For the most part.

By the time the 62nd victor rose as District 1's favorite girl, things were still only just heating up. Very few things had changed from the two years prior— at least from Gryffon's point of view. He recalled the names of most of the victors they watched the recaps of. It wasn't really hard to remember them when you made a point to memorize each Games since you were six, though of course the understanding of the annual event had only come to him years later.

Friends were supportive and funny, and even became your sisters. Your parents were friends with an important-presently dead Peacekeeper who had been retired at the time. There were no troubles, other than the impending doom the Capitol seemed to promise for all the districts. Life could seem dull and boring with no excitement despite the ease. And hate could— and would . . . did —fill up one's heart and consume. But never had it flared so much. It had threatened . . . But loyalty proved stronger. Admiration proved more powerful. And willpower died as you were supposedly put into your place.

Only the races they would have energized them and reminded them there were still things worth to laugh about. They were so young . . . Why all the hate all the time? All the self loathing? It wasn't worth it . . . Not then . . . Not now . . . And maybe not ever.

But what could you do when you were stuck in a death match with potentially deadly people? You could only strive to do well and try to win . . . Or fight for something . . . Or someone.

The second day of training was hazy. Gryffon spent the morning with his district partner in the survival section, showing off their knowledge of plants and insects despite what was ideal. Not like anyone would care. It wasn't a murder skill. Not directly, anyway. Jay taught herself first aid after a few hours of skimming through information she already knew whereas Gryffon played around with the melee weapons. Survival knowledge was Jay's forte . . . He wasn't expected to sit still and learn by reading or listening. The only way to absorb knowledge was by acting it all out, by trying it . . . Lesson by example. How else would he do it? How else should he?

As the day's training neared its end, Gryffon caught Jay leaving her place amongst the bandages and medical herbs, and going toward the elevators with a somewhat thoughtful look on her face. Fear, he figured, seemed to bubble up, and though he was out of place by controlling her whereabouts— or even being curious, she'd say —it puzzled him as to why Jay had only shown up in the middle of the night the other day . . . A couple hours after they finished watching the recaps of the 64th Victor and hours after Gryffon had once again fallen asleep on the couch.

"Jay, up for a little obstacle course race?" Gryffon suggested at the same time he set the mace he had been holding into its rightful place. "It's all clear now . . . " Her light blue eyes shifted toward him, and even though she had a smile on her face, her pivot was obviously reluctant and she seemed to drag her feet away from the opening elevator.

"Of course, Gryff'," she smiled, "it's the one thing I know i can win at." Gryffon didn't seem to care about her wistfulness, though. The challenge was clear in her voice, and he wanted nothing more than to prove her wrong— but that usually failed.

"Ready . . . Set . . . "

"Go!" they announced at the same time, pushing off the ground toward the hurdles, Jay managing to stay a few feet ahead of him.

Gryffon caught up with her more limber form on the monkey bars, but as soon as their feet touched the race track, she left him in the dust; as soon as she crossed the line, Jay veered and turned toward the elevators . . .He reflected that she seemed in more of a rush than she usually was . . . Then reminded himself the last time they had raced they were merely children. And maybe a bit of that childishness returned when they raced down the next morning without questioning each other.

***

_"Bet you can't catch me," he growled as he stared into her challenging glare._

"Oh?" Her lips curled into a grin at the same times as her hands curled over the table's edge, ready to push herself off. "Bet I can. Bet I can even win."

"What do I get when I win?" He watched as she cocked her head a bit, and after a second or two, only a slight shrug answered his arrogant question."Wanna decide later?" Slowly her head bobbed in a small nod . . . Good enough for him. "Okay— ready . . . Set . . . "

"Go!" She shot off the table, and though she didn't bother looking back, she could hear the chair falling over, as well as the command from Gryffon's mother to pick it up. Her short, six-year old legs pounded down the stairs, and though she could hear his feet coming down right behind her, she knew she was going to win this one. "You can't catch me!" she laughed, leaping off the last four steps. Her feet slipped on the carpet, but using the wall to keep her balance, she managed to dash toward the door and flung it open, revealing the long stretch of grass that surrounded a concrete path on both sides.

"Move it, Little Bird," he laughed, pushing past her.

"Hey!" Her breath caught in her throat, but she had_ to win this time— she wasn't going to lose to him again a third time. _

"As soon as it opens," Gryffon challenged with a smirk, "we go."

"You can't beat me," Jay mused with a smug smile. "You know I'm faster."

"Yep, just like you were nine years ago," he retorted lightly with a slight laugh. "Yeah. I'm sure I'll lose." Gryffon ended his sarcastic statement with a roll of his eyes, and upon hearing the elevator's ding announcing they had reached the basement, he tensed. "Ready? Set—"

_"How about just a favor?" he suggested with a smug smile, stretching his legs out on the grass._

"Uhg, fine," she huffed, dropping back down onto the green stems. "Fair enough . . . Let's rest now, though."

"Go," Jay breathed, managing to launch herself out of the elevator before him. The corridor was long, but she had a second's head start, and though Gryffon's stride was longer, she moved faster. The female tribute glanced over her shoulder for a second, seeing him right behind her. Slight surprise pricked at her mind, reminding her that if he wanted, he could easily trip her from where he was, but she didn't allow herself to think too much of that now— he wasn't doing it just yet, so that worry could leave her mind for this short while. Jay veered to the side and let the wall slow her down before hooking her fingers around the door frame, swinging herself into the lunchroom Annabelle had pointed out to them the day before.

"That was short-distance, you were just lucky," Gryffon muttered behind her a moment after she stopped running. Jay shot him a look and rolled her eyes, laughing a bit.

"Yeah, whatever you say, Gryff'." She led them to one of the few empty tables in the room, inhaling then exhaling sharply. Glancing at her district partner quickly, she turned and went over to the buffet table that served a few breakfast delicacies for the tributes to enjoy. Gryffon noticed a slightly clouded look had entered her eyes at that moment, but he let himself think he imagined it and sat down, a bit too anxious to care about food. His amber gaze fitfully flicked over to the table the Careers had taken over. The few mentors that had come down sat on the table behind them, and the rest of the tributes were scattered around the remaining tables, mostly seated beside their district partner.

"They're all so comfortable with each other," Jay commented under her breath as she sat down beside him, a small slice of Eleven's signature apple pie on her plate. "They're going to kill us. Did you see them in training?" The first two days of training had passed in almost a blur— Gryffon couldn't say he saw them; and the private sessions were in a couple of hours.

Gryffon looked up as the pair of Nine stood and started out of the room together. A few of the Careers let out whoops and cat-calls. "The kids from Four weren't all that hot," Gryffon guessed. "You don't need to be all doom and gloom all the time. Relax, we'll pull through— I've told you this." A quiet sigh escaped his lips as he tore his gaze away from the laughing Careers to his friend. "Relax for me, okay?" Her response was an indignant scoff and a quick glance to the mentor's table; and as quick as her eyes had gone over, she stood. The childlike laughter from Jay a few minutes ago completely absent from her eyes and demeanor.

"You can have it. I didn't touch it," she said dryly, referring to the pie on her plate before turning on her heels. Completely avoiding his gaze, Jay walked toward the door, tightening her ponytail.

"Aww, sweetheart, boyfriend make you mad?" Sapphire shouted from her place at the table, but unlike the pair from Nine, Jay shuffled out seeming unaffected. "Oh, well— how boring."

Gryffon caught himself glaring at the pretty Career when her bright eyes met him, a dangerous smirk matching the glint in her glare. A light and small hand rested on the blonde that moment, and just as she was about to say something, Sapphire thought against it and looked away. The owner of the hand started toward Gryffon, leaving Sapphire to gawk in place and roll her eyes, embarrassed, as the other Careers shot sneers at her.

"Hey, Eleven." The girl, definitely no older than eighteen, if even that, settled herself beside Gryffon, her back to the table top. "You okay?" The male tribute scoffed and looked up— rather, down —at her, a sudden familiarity hitting him.

"Yeah, just kinda tired . . . And I guess annoyed," he answered coolly. "Shouldn't you be tending to your own district?"

"They're irritating," her tone was smooth and childish, emphasizing the cute smile that formed on her face. "Plus, you looked like you could use some company. And some sleep, might I add."

"_Why_ would you care about me, exactly?" Gryffon tried to keep his gaze away from her intimidating green glare, dare he admit she scared him. The mentor gave a light-hearted laugh at his question and eased one leg over the bench, leaning toward him slightly.

"You're cute," she mused her answer, giggling. "Maybe I care for you than my own tributes?" Gryffon rolled his eyes and glanced at her quickly before averting his gaze again. She didn't answer his question . . .

"And why would that be?"

"I don't know; maybe you'll be able to tell me yourself when you get back." A smirk broke her sweet-looking smile and a sort of fire entered her eyes. "What's my name, sweetheart?"

Gryffon blinked at her first comment . . . Though the only thought that followed was, _What a stupid question_ . . . "Diamanté Adalina, won three years ago, victor and mentor of One . . . Eighteen-years old now?"

"Correct," she smiled. "Who else do you know?" He faintly wondered why she cared if he paid attention to any of the other victors, but he answered nonetheless.

"Trace Brun, Four's victor; Annabelle Miranda, Eleven's victor, as well as Treyshaun Carter; Dakota Tymora from Twelve . . . Abir Bernon from Eight . . . To list a few, anyway . . . "

"Oh, you know more than I expected," the dark redhead purred, letting out another light laugh. She noted that he kept track of some of the ones who made the biggest impacts— who were still alive.

"Why?" Gryffon growled rather coldly, turning his eyes back toward the young mentor. "Why do you give a shit?"

"Because why _not_ give a shit? I wanted to know, and that's reason enough." Diamanté tilted her head to the side a bit, insisting on keeping her stare steady on his face. "Why are you trying so hard to ignore me or chase me away? I could help you, you know."

A frustrated sigh left him, and Gryffon blinked once. "Because I don't see why I should bother with you."

"Same reason you bother with your little girlfriend, Gryff'." She watched his expression go from cold to hesitant, and as that happened, her cruel little smile grew.

"She's not my freaking girlfriend, and don't call me that." With that snappy and somewhat evasive note, Gryffon got to his feet and made a point not to look at the victor. Though the fiery red ringlets that cascaded down to the center of her back and those emerald-like eyes that popped from behind the black eyeliner she wore were hard to ignore. And _God_, the rest of her. Fitting black tank top, short black jeans shorts with a chain belt, black yet transparent leggings, and black army boots— all it did was outline her body for others to notice her.

"Oh, if that wasn't the case you wouldn't try so hard to please her pretty little face," she continued, totally unfazed by his cold tone. "You're going to pretend you care for that cute little girl 'till the moment you realize she doesn't, and never will, give a fuck about you." The redhead stood up, and though she barely reached Gryffon's shoulder in height, he felt like flinching away from her.

He swallowed another sigh and as the jeers came from the Careers when he turned away from the One victor, Gryffon ignored them and started away from the curly redhead. "Good luck, Eleven." To him, he thought as he let the door close behind him, her tone didn't sound as sarcastic as he thought it would. Why exactly did she care? To have hope in an outer district's skill? That was a comical thought; to even consider a former Career and current victor would think like that. Especially her: who volunteered at fifteen, won, and came out fairly sane-looking. Whatever she-beast she was hiding behind those green eyes of hers was a mystery to Gryffon, and became even more obscured every time he saw her smile.

_Manipulation_, he thought, _that's how she won_. Made friends with all the Careers, allied the youngest, remained silent when she killed. The whip had been her favorite weapon: painless . . . Or painfully beheaded her rivals when she got the chance, unless they were younger than her; then she toyed with them, covering them with gashes before finally slitting their throats, or left them to bleed to death. The arena hadn't exactly helped her victims, either, by becoming an active volcano near the end of her Games.

Gryffon shook his head. He shouldn't trust Diamanté to help him; she was a lot more unstable than she looked, which would explain the lack of regret when she left the arena. But she had won, and like any other victor, knew how to get out of the arena alive. Annabelle's arena wasn't nearly as threatening by nature, and she had only won by the skin of her teeth, which was exactly why she's memorable. Not to mention she hadn't been much help thus far. Plus, Gryffon only knew her name and face because she was his mentor, not because he had taken interest in her Games. Damn Treyshaun hadn't come . . . At least he had suffered more in his Games. He'd be of more help.

"Didn't think you'd actually join in," Jay called down from the ceiling, hanging upside down on the ropes that were strewn up there. "You looked and sounded pretty confident and ready before. Gave your cockiness up to the Careers?"

"I don't need your sarcasm; if you want to be left alone, don't call for my attention," he answered coldly, not even looking up at her as he passed. Pleasing her was futile. The stupid little race had been completely pointless.

But his mind quickly drifted to something else as her voice died away . . . What could he possibly do to impress the Gamemakers? By the time his turn came up, they'd be bored, so maybe absent-mindedly murder a few mannequins? But what could he do to top the Careers? . . .  
Killing dummies would do jack-shit . . .

"Arugh!"

"Goddamnit!" he hissed under his breath, shoving away a sudden mass of weight that crashed into him.

"Sorry!" Wide brown eyes looked up at him from the floor, rubbing the back of her head. "You were in the way and I didn't see . . . "

"I didn't ask." He moved around the little Nine girl, his fists clenched. His amber eyes narrowed angrily and as soon as his hand got in reach of the axes, his fingers curled around the shaft of a gleaming black throwing axe. A smirk appeared on Gryffon's face and when the walls around him lit up with an orange light, he thrust his arm forward, narrowly missing the head of the target. Turning on the balls of his feet, the tribute wound his arm back and launched the weapon toward the flickering light, managing to hit the target's shoulder. It deflected back toward him, and as he caught it, Gryffon ducked to avoid getting hit in the head with the back end of a metal shaft. A sudden warmth stirred in his chest, resembling a long withheld gratitude, as he turned to replace his axe with something else when the hologram came to an abrupt end, leaving him to come face-to-face with Jay. "What?"

"You hurt her," she said, scold and annoyance edging her voice. "She didn't do anything to you."

"She got in the way." Gryffon nudged her aside and pulled up the thinner body of a tomahawk, taking it in his hand tightly as he replaced the larger blade.

"And me. Will you shove me down because I'm in the way?" He turned his head slightly, watching her from the corner of his vision.

"No."

"Then why is she, an innocent twelve-year old, allowed to get pushed around?" Jay challenged. Gryffon turned to face her, meeting those steely grey-blue eyes of hers.

"Oh, you're funny. Now move," he said firmly. The stubborn blonde merely stared back at him, not at all affected by his stern tone. "Damn! Why are you doing this?"

"I don't see why you had to hurt her," she answered smoothly, gently spreading her palm over his chest. "Relax, you're too worked up for someone who's been in here for less than ten minutes today."

"Don't _you_ tell _me_ to relax, Jay." He started forward, using his arm to gently nudge her away.

A light scoff escaped her lips and she gripped his shoulder, pulling him forward so his head was level with hers. "You might be strong, but you're not nearly as smart as me, Gryff'."

"Don't fucking call me—"

Jay wrapped her ankle around his and pulled forward, tripping him at the same time as wrenching his arm back, forcing him to loosen his grip on the smaller axe so it fell into her hands. "I'll call you what I want." He never had a problem with it before, and he certainly wasn't going to now just because he felt like it was his time of the month. The silvery blonde turned on her heels and tossed the axe back on the rack, walking away from the station.

"What the _hell_ is her issue? Damn . . . " he mumbled, staring at her as she walked around. He could feel a slight burning sensation on the side of his head, and suddenly his heart sank . . . All of the Careers were probably watching and laughing their heads off at the scene, most likely. Oh he was screwed . . .


	11. Small Attempts

The morning went by quickly, and before anyone noticed, they were being called into the dining room for lunch and to wait to be called into their private session with the Gamemakers. The first to be called was naturally the girl from 1: Sapphire Camill. She left the dining room by hopping off her seat, tossing her hair over her shoulder, and smiling back at the others who merely watched before slipping into the Training Center without another sound. It went on like that, girl and boy being called, until only four tributes were left long after their lunches had been finished. They sat in tense silence, watching the motionless door, fidgeting and anxious. Fifteen minutes stretched to about five hours as each tribute was given fifteen minutes to perform for the Gamemakers, and by then Gryffon was tired of either pacing or sitting or toying with food on his plate.

"Jay Wright," the high-pitched recorded voice called the 11 girl up. With a stiff sigh, Jay stood up and walked toward the door that branched off into the now-closed room of the Training Center. It was well after noon now, almost tome for dinner, and only three tributes remained in the dining room waiting, deathly silent.

Gryffon stared after Jay as she walked toward the doors, completely oblivious to him and left without giving so much as a good luck or accepting the words from him. Fifteen minutes passed, easily coming off as fifteen hours, but soon enough Gryffon Sauntor was called and the tribute stood and left the District 12 kids alone.

His heart was pounding and fear of failure kept hammering against his temples. Curiosity as to what Jay could have possibly done nipped at him, but he figured it couldn't have been much because only about three of the twenty Gamemaker heads turned his way in interest. 11 wasn't a highly regarded district; Gryffon figured if Jay had done something extraordinary, they'd be curious about him. Despite the dark show he and Jay had put on, as well as the mistakenly good practice they had shown off, surely the Gamemakers would already be impressed? But Gryffon would only find out later that night after dinner. For now, he had fifteen minutes to show off the best he could without killing someone or himself.

It wasn't anything they hadn't seen already, but best to be safe and get a low score to try and come back stronger afterwards. That's all that mattered. Gryffon didn't need Sapphire's admiration.

Taking a deep breath, pretty sure he had taken up a minute with so much pointless thinking, Gryffon introduced himself and his district before turning toward the axes in an almost threatening, robotic fashion as if he had been doing this for years. His right set of fingers curled around two slim shafts while the left hand picked up the sturdier battle axe. The training dummies were set up closer to him, but the wall targets, smaller targets with a few slices already across them, were farther and more of a challenge. He would try them. He had to get it right.

And maybe the bad luck he had earlier was just a dent in all the favorable odds he had been getting. The first axe flew out of his hand in an almost perfect swerve toward a lower, but farther, bull's eye, hitting it dead center. If he had aimed for it, it couldn't have landed any better. Gryffon charged forward, using his left hand to remove a few mannequin arms before slamming the battle axe's head into the target, slicing right through to where the metal hit the wall and vibrated back up his arm; but using the impact to jump back more smoothly, Gryffon let the second throwing axe launch out of his hand toward another mannequin, but missed completely and, instead, hit the collection of knives and sent a good bunch clattering onto the hard floor.

A few drunken chortles and laughs came from the elevated seats the Gamemakers sat in, and though the noise had caught the attention of a few more, Gryffon was merely dismissed with a lazy flick of a wrist. Too humiliated to look at the clock and too angry to argue to say he was sure he had more time, Gryffon pivoted toward the exist and ignored the Avoxes standing guard there, pushing one or two out of the way to give him easier access to the elevator on the other side of the hallway.

He slammed the button to call the elevator down, and again punched the "11" to take him upstairs to his district's floor. There wasn't much to do to show off, anyway. And to mess it up so badly, so messily, Gryffon would be surprised if he got any higher than a goddamned two. Sure he had strength, but when someone else held a dagger or a sword and all you had we're your hands and weight, what were you supposed to do? Try to snap their neck without worrying they'd cut your arm off first? Fuck no!

But . . . It was just a misconception of how far he had to throw, and the angle had been weird, anyway. It was a once in a life time sort of thing. He couldn't worry about it much. Especially when Jay seemed so confident. He had to act as if he knew what he was doing- act shocked when the low score came up and let the others think the Gamemakers were too drunk and stuffed with food that they couldn't think. Then maybe he could get away without losing all of Jay's hope in him.

And he had to pray not to mess up in the actual arena.

Dinner was held in mostly silence, Vinyel being the one jabbering most of the time. Annabelle asked a few things here and there, an inquisitive look in her eyes every time she glanced at Gryffon, but otherwise didn't make the tributes reveal what they had done.

"Your scores should tell me everything, don't you think?" she had said before quietly slurping up another spoonful of the soup that she had been served.

"So! Tributes!" Vinyel piped up as he dabbed the corner of his mouth with his napkin. "Ready for interview prep tomorrow!?"

Jay brought her eyes up from the chocolate cake she was in the processes of devouring and raised a brow. "Interview prep?"

"Yes darling, yes! You can't just go up there and talk, you need to have an _approach_!" the escort explained slowly with a grin on his face. "Otherwise, how would you possibly get sponsors? Neither of you seem too social, and you only talk to her-" His finger pointed at Jay then the coffee-eyes mentor beside him "-because you know her."

"Way to believe in us, guys," Jay smirked, finishing the last bit of her dessert before Gryffon had a chance to ask anything. "So, don't the scores come up soon?"

"Actually yes. They should already be starting," Jay's stylist, Maple, said something for the first time that night. Canworm, who sat beside her, gave a little nod and pushed off the table. Soon enough, the entire team was gathered by the couch in the living room; both tributes made themselves comfortable on the plush carpet, Gryffon's arm draped over the cushions behind Jay's head and shoulders while the adults scattered themselves around the room.

Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith gave their customary greetings and before long were listing off the scores with a picture and the name of the tribute above it.

_"Sapphire Camill, District One with an astonishing ten!"_ Caesar narrated excitedly. Denim got an eleven, as was the norm for Careers. Both kids from District 2 got 9's, and it went on. Denim's score was still the highest at eleven and the Nine girl the lowest with a score of three.

_"Jay Write, District Eleven with a marvelous score of nine!"_ Caesar and Claudius said in unison. Vinyel started to clap first, the stylists following lead. Annabelle remained silent, but still had a smile of approval on her face.

"What'd you do to get that?" Gryffon whispered, glancing at Jay. Apparently the question came out more bitter and taken aback than he meant it to be, because Jay only answered him with a scowl and a purse of her lips. He rolled his eyes and brought his gaze back to the screen as his name and district was announced.

_"Gryffon Sauntor, District Eleven with a six!"_ Oh, hah, it was higher than he expected it to be, but still three lower than his less able district partner. And the light of laughter that showed up in Jay's eyes clearly wrote out her triumph.

"What'd you do to get _that_?" the girl mocked, smirking at him quickly before getting up, not even bothering to watch the rest of the scores. "Night everybody," Jay breathed, though instead of turning toward the rooms, she pivoted to the elevator. Gryffon stared after her, a reproachful look entering his eyes. What the _fuck_ was her problem? He stirred to go after her, but Annabelle's hand held him back.

"Let her do what she pleases, Gryffon. It's going to turn back around and bite her in the ass later," the mentor warned. "Plus, if she comes back exhausted, she's going to screw up the interview tomorrow night; it's not worth to stress yourself out with someone who clearly doesn't want your help right now."

"Jesus, Annabelle, that's possibly the smartest thing you've said this whole time," Gryffon mumbled, pulling away from her. "But whether or not I'm going to listen to you is another story." As the male tribute from 12's score was being said, Gryffon got to his feet and started toward the elevator, taking note that it was coming down from the roof. What was Jay doing up there? Taking in the fresh air? He shook his head and stepped in, a part of him wishing Annabelle had jumped up to keep him from going.


	12. Interviews

The morning was hectic. Four hours with Vinyel to figure out presentation, then four hours with Annabelle to insert some content into Gryffon's performance. The mentor ended up insulting Gryffon for an hour before she simply gave up on him and his stubborn nature- what was the point in trying to help someone who disagreed with everything she suggested? Maybe her bets were set on the wrong tribute.

"Gryffon, yoo-hoo! Ya' there?" she had chimed mockingly while knocking on the side of his head until he slapped her arm away.

"I don't give a fuck, Annabelle, and I doubt you do eith-"

"I don't reckon you want to die on the first day?" Annabelle cut him off, ending the conversation there. He did nothing more than jump up and go to his room to play out his words himself, and finally think. Think.  
There had been so much time to think before and he would get bored but now there seemed to be so little time to even breathe, let alone get your thoughts together.

"If Jay can ignore someone she supposedly knows, then I can too . . . " he reasoned as he paced his room. It wasn't like Annabelle had been too attentive on her mentoring, anyway, so he might as well deal with things himself now. His stupid mark of 6 had to be forgotten if he wanted to do well on the interviews. Instead of fifteen minutes, they were given three. He had to make those three minutes count. Had to make the Capitol and beyond think he was too good to be forgotten. To be killed.

_"Jay?" he called out quietly as the doors opened, revealing the wide, wind-strewn roof._

"Oh, that's a shame, darling . . . "

"Not really, it'll make it easier later, I guess."

Gryffon raised a brow and continued off the elevator, shivering a bit as the cool air whisked over the roof top. Why was Jay there? Why did she always go there?

"So, any plans for now?"

"Nothing more than what you told me . . . I guess we'll see, hm?" That was Jay's voice. It could only be . . . He hoped to have been wrong. But who was the other person? Gryffon silenced his steps the best he could, suddenly glad that the training boots they were given had built in padding on the bottom to help the tributes when running around and landing hard on their feet, and with the wind up there, it would help him walk without a sound.

Leaving the dome shaped glass that covered the elevator doors, Gryffon went toward the garden opposite the wall. It was surprisingly large, and certainly colorful and lovely. Something about it made him smile: maybe it was the mere thought of the district he thought he despised, or maybe the simple scent of the many flowers and leaves was just relaxing, and even served as a two second distraction until the elevator dinged behind him, announcing it had closed and was going down again.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Jay asked, stepping through a few overhanging ferns and lavender petals. "Thought you'd be down there celebrating?" He stopped where he was, about ten feet from the girl, and let his smile grow as sarcastic as her tone.

"I'm really beginning to think you're bi-polar, Jay, you know that?" he retorted as he crossed his arms over his chest. "It's the only explanation I can come up with to describe your attitude."

"How else would you like me to act? Want me to pretend everything's perfect and amazing and just how I like it? Want me to fake my security? 'Cause I'm sure I'd rather be bi-polar than fake- but the opposite seems to apply to you, doesn't it?" When she finished, Gryffon watched as her chest heaved to gasp in air. One breath . . . It took her one breath to say all of that and she still looked calm. Calm . . . Or angry.

"I'm not faking anything, Jay- at least I'm not lying to everyone who's trying to help me. To help us_," he retorted. "I'm not the one coming up here to discuss plans and shit with some stranger-"_

"She's less of a stranger than you, or Annabelle, or Vinyel, or any ofthlose idiots are, Gryffon," Jay spat out. "Why the hell do you even care, Gryff? You don't care that I got a nine, you didn't care about me in training, you didn't even try to help me. You wanted to train separately, Gryffon. Who was I supposed to ask for help? Annabelle? She doesn't care about how I do, either. I'm fed up with all you fucking little show dogs with cute little ribbons tied to your hair- I found someone who's not trying to fake their way out of the shit she's in." 

Lectures. She was always about lectures and lessons and throwing faults back into others' faces. It was starting to get old, and anyway, how would she be able to tell if someone was lying or being honest? Being fake or real? She hardly knew how to be either, let alone try to see the truth in others. She was desperate, and playing off of that wasn't going to get her anywhere.

But look who's talking.

"Acts . . . Griffons and jays . . . " he mumbled to himself, sinking down to his bed. "Play the part . . . "

"District One's Sapphire Camill!" Caesar announced with his signature grin. The curly blonde pranced onto the stage, her short, bedazzled flashing under the bright lights.

"Hi Caesar!" she greeted as she dropped herself onto the seat beside the host, seeming not to care that her skirt practically gathered itself around her hips with the moment. Gryffon watched her swirl the tips of her curls between her fingers for a couple seconds as she warmed up to Caesar until a few fingers placed a bit of pressure on his knee.

"Let's not watch?" Jay suggested quietly, as if it made much of a difference; they would hear everything whether or not they watched. "Think of yourself. They don't matter. Don't listen." Gryffon looked over at his district partner, merely blinking in response. Why bother with an answer? She was toying with him, but even then he knew that she probably didn't have the heart to completely abandon him. No . . . Because of that, he couldn't do so either.

"Yeah . . . Okay," he agreed after a few silent moments just staring into her unwavering gaze. Tearing his eyes away from her darkly outlined eyes, Gryffon distracted himself by analyzing Jay's outfit. His own greatly resembled his parade costume with the dark appearance of it- everything was black aside from the tie which gleamed such an intricate pattern of crimson that you could swear that the glow of it made the rest of the suit swirl with fur and light. His hair had been decorated with some sort of clear gel that sparked to life with a slight fiery hue to it, making his dark locks highlight with red, almost as if he already had blood, or flames, over his head. And to top that off, some features on his face were darkened ever so slightly, so no matter how he turned his head, his face was under a constant shadow- all but his eyes, which shined a bright green-gold.

Jay, on the other hand, was all about elegance in beauty and not fear. Her dark blue dress swirled with silver-white designs, making it almost look like she had stars over her body; a thin silver belt rested lightly on her waist, clipping at the side where three grey-blue lilies held up the side of the dress, revealing her left leg which had a temporary floral tattoo curling around her thigh, with a similar one that crossed her collar bone bone to her left elbow. Quite like her male counterpart, everything about her gleamed or shined.

"I didn't mean you could stare," Jay whispered quite monotonously, quickly averting her eyes to look at Caesar when Denim was called. Gryffon shook his head, but couldn't resist a smile. He was tempted to continue staring, even if he wasn't looking, just to annoy her, but thinking better, maybe irritating her where everyone could see wasn't the best idea.

Name after name, the tributes were called and given their three minutes to please the crowd and the sponsors. There wasn't anything too special with the group of kids chosen- either they were reserved, excited, scared, sultry, cocky . . . The acts were the same every year and nothing of what many of them said interested Gryffon. He had heard it all before, it was just one thing after another. All rehearsed. By the time Jay's name was called, he was on the verge of simply getting up and leaving. But of course, at the mention of his friend's name he was awake.

"Ah, Miss Write, nice to finally get a chance to talk to you," Caesar started. "I'd like to begin by congratulating you on your score."

Instantly, that sweet smile of hers pulled her lips up, and with a little shrug, she replied. "Oh please, Caesar, my little score was nothing. I'm still debating on whether or not it was a mistake, to be honest." The crowd gave an exaggerated parade of chuckles, much to Gryffon's disdain

"Ah ah ah, there are no mistakes, my dear," Caesar mused, waggling a finger at her. "Unless you made one yourself and still managed to get the highest score outside the Career districts." Jay giggled at this, and was quick to remind the host that there were no mistakes on her part, and that's where he returned with another compliment, "so see? You're just the perfect little girl, hm?"

Gryffon's eyes bore into the back of Jay's head, almost as if trying to get into her head. What was she playing at? Who was helping her? Why was she doing this? Why so much change in a short couple of days? From dreadful to obliviously arrogant . . . What was going on?

Suddenly, Gryffon went stiff. Jay spoke as if she knew everything, as if she was certain of every move she was going to make in the arena, whereas he was only sure that he had to get her out safely. Why did he care? he echoed, reminding himself that Jay didn't give a shit anymore. But then . . . He'd have to go against her? He couldn't do that.

Confidence. He had to play it convincingly. Like he had been the past week. Like Jay was doing now. _Oh fuck,_Gryffon swallowed as Caesar dismissed Jay, and as the applause continued, his name was called. Almost automatically, Gryffon found himself standing and walking over toward the seat opposite Caesar, the lights dancing over the shadows on his hair and face. The audience seemed to go silent all together in one big gasp. Fear? Did Canworm really believe Gryffon could make that settle over the Capitol? Or were they just horrified at how simple he looked? He hoped it was the former, it'd make him a little more at ease with himself in front of the millions watching.

"Hello Caesar," he greeted first with a smile, taking the host's outstretched hand in a quick squeeze before settling down beside him. "How are you?" His voice was surprisingly smooth, as were his movements, but could the jitteriness be seen through his eyes? Although, this did feel almost natural to him, and thank god, too, otherwise he probably would have broken down like the little 9 girl had.

"Oh, I'm quite well, thank you," the host laughed after sitting down again. "You look quite dashing, Mister-"

"Call me Gryffon, Caesar, formality isn't much of a thing here, is it?" Gryffon cut him off lightly. "After all, 'soon as I stepped foot into the building people were asking me to strip and parade around, so I just assumed we're all friends." Caesar blinked a few times, his lemon-yellow lashes following lead, not seeming to know whether he wanted to laugh or look toward the audience for an answer.

"Well, no," he finally answered, laughing a bit, shaking his head. "Now that you mention it, we are all friends, aren't we?" With that comment, and apparently thought, Caesar laughed harder and the crowd quickly followed, leaving Gryffon to merely smile. The tribute offered a little shrug. Friends? Not quite. "Alright then, Gryffon . . . I never really expected to see you here, but I sure do hope you've been enjoying your stay?" He looked at Gryffon with such a look that the tribute could only describe as curious. His eyes were hardly visible aside from the faint green-gold glint that showed from behind the shadows. But that was fine. He had their attention. He was going to keep it.

The fifteen-year-old stared at the host for a few seconds, not entirely sure how to answer. He felt the words muddle up and fumble through his mind, trying to fight for a spot in his speech. "I've been enjoying the Capitol. Much different than Eleven, that's for sure. Grander, more colorful- and a hell lot noisier. Do you know how annoying silence gets after a while? It's unbearable, really." Roll of his eyes, uncaring, annoyed, but amused. Smile, don't forget to smile. Ironic. Hateful. It all had to show.

"Oh, no, no, I don't want to know," Caesar shook his head, waving his hands in rejection. "But, I would like to know why you would give up your peaceful little life in District Eleven voluntarily."

"Peaceful little life?" Gryffon shook his head, leaning back into the chair and crossed a leg over the other. "I've always dreamed of winning this thing- make my dad proud, ya' know? But hey, now I've got my own ambitions and I guess I'm gonna be following through with 'em." Caesar nodding in understanding and his grin reappeared. Good, entertain the stupid little man.

"Speaking of your father, how does it feel to have had a fighter, an idol of right and wrong with you your whole life, then suddenly be here- using whatever knowledge you gained from him?" Caesar went on. With him his whole life? More like when he wanted a punching bag or got bored and decided to teach Gryffon something. And knowledge? He learned physical, not mental with his father.

"It feels . . . great, I suppose. We'll figure out how efficient any of that really is in the arena, though," Gryffon replied, raising a brow. He dare challenge the Peacekeeprs? Blasphemy!  
"How d'you think it'd feel, huh? Powerful? Full of advantage? It's really quite hard, trying to get the attention away from me. How do you deal with this every year?" he asked in turn, changing the subject. Let's stay away from the Peacekeeper father. The less he spilled, the better. Less hate, less hate on the Capitol. They had to like him, not wonder why he seemed to both love and hate the place.  
Caesar laughed again, holding his hand up for Gryffon to stop, but went on at least another ten seconds chortling.

"I can imagine the feeling of power, but to be quite honest, I think we were all surprised with your score of six. I certainly expected higher- are you tricking us into anything?" the host asked, again changing the subject so the attention was all on Gryffon; he leaned in a bit closer to Gryffon with a thoughtful look on his face.

"Uh, well . . . How about we find that out in the arena, too?" the tribute retorted clumsily, but the smirk he still had on seemed to tell a different story than his words. Good, because he really had no clue as to what he was going to do in the arena. Not die? That sounded like a beautiful plan to him, that was for sure.

The arena. In only a few hours they'd be in there.  
Oh for fuck's sake . . .

"Ah, quite evasive- much like your district partner," Caesar reflected with a slight nod. He opened his mouth to say something else, but decided against it and continued by saying, "Speaking of which, I'm sure we all noticed how worried you got when her name was called. Is there a reason-"

**_BZZZZ_**

"Oh, what a shame, I was enjoying myself, I didn't even have a chance to ask about your outfits." When the host stood up to shake Gryffon's hand again, he seemed to have a genuinely upset expression on, but frankly, Gryffon was ready to bolt. "But we can save that for later." With one last shake of the tribute's hand and a little wink, Caesar announced his leaving with another, "Ladies and gentlemen, Gryffon Sauntor of District Eleven!"

As he walked back to his seat at the far edge of the stage, leaving the little elf-sized man, Gryffon sat back down, completely stunned at what had just happened and what had just hit his conscious now: The Games were in a few hours. The Capitol, or at least Caesar, was expecting him to come back, thought his score was a fluke, that he had done it on purpose. But how was he supposed to go on with that when he had someone else to worry about? One glance at Jay, though, and you'd think she couldn't see him. That she didn't care.

Why should he?

_"Loyalty is one stubborn bitch- and you best stick true to that bitch,"_ Gryffon reflected, swallowing down his frustration. Why was his dad always so right?


	13. And it Starts!

"I'm not going to bother with saying you shouldn't go to the Cornucopia," Annabelle started as she urged her tributes to hurry up and eat their breakfast. "But I will tell you to stay away from the Careers for as long as you can."

Gryffon wasn't listening. He hardly ever was, but this time it was like her words went directly through one ear and out the other. He didn't care for what she had to say. He knew it all, anyway. Common sense. It was all just common sense, like the training tips. They meant little to nothing to him. "We know, Annabelle," Jay answered for the both of them, shooting Gryffon a quick glance. He looked down at her and rolled his eyes.

"Don't die, either, am I right?" he asked their mentor rhetorically, raising a brow. Stupidly, she nodded and went on with her obvious little speech.

"Shelter is the first thing you look for, water second, then food. You can live longest without food, but depending on the arena, one night without a good cover you're as good as dead. And I'm sure I don't need to explain to you the importance of water." Gryffon groaned and shoved the rest of the crescent shaped bread into his mouth before hastily shoving off the table.

"You don't need to tell us any of this, we fucking know," he pointed out, crossing his arms over his chest. "When you tell us something we don't already know, then maybe we'll value some of your words." He glared at the dark-haired woman as she slowly shook her head, but instead of a disapproving frown, she smiled. And Gryffon didn't like the sight of it. It was cynical, knowing.

"And be careful who you give your trust to- you've been reckless this entire time, Gryffon. You say you know, you know, you know, but when you find yourself dead by the gold horn, it'll be too late to come say sorry. I'll tell you I told you so now, and I'll do it to your corpse again later," she mused, standing up from the table before giving a little curtsy. "Vinyel'll take you down. Take care, 'Gryff'," Annabelle added with a mocking wink before stepping away from the table. Jay, without being instructed to and without finishing her breakfast, silently stood and followed their mentor without sharing another word, or glance, with her partner. Were they even allies at that point? Gryffon didn't know.

"You're quiet," the tribute commented, looking over at the green-haired man who had his locks low and hanging by his shoulders in lime-colored corkscrew curls. Vinyel shrugged at his comment and looked up at Gryffon quizzically.

"How much are you willing to sacrifice to win this, Gryffon?" he questioned. "How much do you think that silly role model of yours was ready to lose? Because I can assure you it wasn't half of what he really lost." Gryffon stared at the mentor, not at all aware of how he was supposed to react. Stunned? Scared? Angry? Was it really that obvious that he wanted to win? Obvious enough to compare it to a Career's need to win? Gryffon had thought he was going to get Jay out, but how well was Vinyel being able to read him? He was with the boy while they watched the recaps, after all, but wasn't that just hollow admiration?

"I might not be losing much," the fifteen-year old replied after a few moments of just blankly staring at the other man, thinking of what he had at stake. There was really very little he thought he'd sacrifice for the Games. Just one friendship and a few lives that weren't his own. That's all, right?

Vinyel was annoying, yes, especially his ridiculously high-pitched voice, but Gryffon found him to be the most comforting of his team, and maybe the most helpful despite Gryffon's lack of appreciation. Even more than Canworm who seemed more hung up on making his tribute look intimidating and himself look good. "But . . . I'm willing to sacrifice a few lives to get to the end." It was just a game, right? Everyone else was just a toy, a stupid little doll that was more than ragged and ready to be thrown out. Not people.

Never people.

Vinyel heaved a sigh and gave a little nod before getting up and grinning. "Very well then! Let's go!?" Uhg, and there was the peppy-ness that Gryffon wouldn't miss. Nodding at his proposition, they made their way to the elevator and up to the roof. Littered around the rooftop garden were tributes and mentors and escorts, talking and giving last minute advice, and if not, they stood in silence. The hovercraft meant to take the tributes to the designated arena area was buzzing to a halt over the roof, ruffling everyone's garments and hair. "Hope to see you again, Gryffon." The tribute blinked at the man and offered a half smile before the guarding Peacekeepers began to beckon the tributes. Gryffon stepped forward without hesitation, meeting up with Jay at the door and going inside with her. They took their seats, watching the others file in. Some were on the verge of tears and others had a stone-faced mask on. The 9 girl was the first to cave into her bubbling hopelessness upon sitting down, but to Gryffon's relief, she kept her sobbing quiet and muffled behind both her hands.

Gryffon looked over toward the closing doors and caught two mentors looking in his and Jay's direction, one with a smirk, the other with pursed lips. Probably his least two favorite people aside from his mother. But as soon as their eyes met, each girl looked away: Diamanté to her own tributes and Annabelle to Vinyel.

After receiving an enthusiastic wave from Sapphire as she got in, Gryffon decided to keep his eyes on his fisted hands on his lap and waited until they were in the air with the almost silent buzzing starting up again and whispering in his ears. No need to anger Jay now. Not with everyone else sitting there with them. Just, just stay neutral. Quiet. Uncaring and stone-like.

"Arm," a medic ordered, holding a large needle in front of some teary-eyed boy a minute after they took off.

"Oh god," Jay breathed beside him, glaring at the man. "They're not going to stab that into my arm, right?" Gryffon looked at her, and her at him. She didn't look frightened, but it was common knowledge that she hated anything sharp - knives, needles, darts, spears - none of it appealed to Jay if there was a possibility of it going into her. Training was one story, but getting injected with it was a whole other one.

"It's the tracking device, Jay, it has to go in your arm," Gryffon said levelly and obviously, watching as she blinked away again to glare at the second medic coming toward her. A quiet whimper escaped her lips when the woman asked for her arm, and her teeth clenched when the needle was pressed into her skin. As quickly as it went in, it was out and the tracker stayed behind. The woman wiped the needle and moved toward Gryffon, repeating the process before moving on to the next tribute. "See, it wasn't that bad."

"You're a fucking masochist, Gryff, you can't be talking," Jay growled under her breath, hardly loud enough for him to hear as she rubbed her arm where the needle had gone through. "Stupid thing's sharp." Her district partner rolled his eyes and leaned his head back, shaking it once or twice. If that was sharp, then how would an axe feel if it went through her head? Her arm? Maybe it could help get rid of the tracker, and then she'd have nothing to complain about.

Gryffon bit his lip and gripped the arms of the chair until his knuckles turned white. What the hell was he thinking?

* * *

"What the fuck is THAT?" Gryffon spat, glaring at the atrocity that hung in front of him. "It looks like a fucking clown puked on a mutilated lion." One could compare the furry leotard and shorts to something a body-builder-circus-lion might wear with added glitter and a sparkly black bow tie. The outfit even had a hoodie with a mane and ears. "Do I have a fucking tail, too? Or maybe another pair of those fucking wings?"

Yes and no.

"Relax, Gryffon, it's not-"

"Is everyone else wearing this same shit, or do you just-"

"You'll see, Gryffon. C'mon, change," Canworm urged, looking at his tribute with disapproval plastered on his multicolored face. Begrudgingly, Gryffon complied and with the help of his stylist, fit into the tight suit. "Thank god you're slim, otherwise this would look absolutely ridiculous!" The man laughed at his own lie of a comment as he adjusted the hood over Gryffon's head so the bow tie fixed itself at his collarbone. Canworm spoke as if he didn't already look ridiculous . . . Ridicule was a big thing in the Capitol, Gryffon noticed.

The longer he stood in the outfit, the tighter it seemed to become tighter, but he let himself think he imagined it for the time being. One less thing to worry about. Canworm pushed him toward a pair of dress shoes that sat by the wall before standing the teen up and meeting his eyes. Canworm's violet contacts gleamed under the blue light of his tattoos, as did his little smile. He looked both smug and sorry. Gryffon didn't believe either.

"Be careful, Gryffon. The Capitol's testing you guys," Canworm said, his smile almost growing sadder. The Capitol always tested the citizens of Panem, no matter your age or profession, but even so, the power, strength, and intelligence of the Capitol interested Gryffon. Who cared if the people were murderous and sadistic bastards?

The tribute nodded once and smirked. Idiot, he thought. Canworm was nothing more but a greedy idiot. A colorful little pet.

**30 Seconds**

_"Only an hour left, Gryff," a nine-year old Jay warned. "Chin up, let's finish up!" He blinked at her and heaved a little groan, but he had no choice but to jump off the branch he perched upon and adjust the basket at the foot of the tree. "Thanks, Gryff!"_

"Why you so happy?" he asked then, like he often had at the time. Always so cheery and eager in the orchards, in the trees, singing with the mockingjays. He usually was, too, but after the morning, everything just became slow and annoying and stupid in his eyes. Always stupid.  
That was his new word, and a largely overused one at that. But such innocence wouldn't lie, now would it?

Jay looked down at him and smiled, dropping an apple over his head, which he managed to just barely catch. "Think happily- there's less time to wait now than there was an hour ago so we're closer to going home!"

The less people there were, the faster they'd leave. The timers were a good sign, a sign that time was still going by. Still there to mark their leaving. Their victory. One or the other. Both . . . No, that wasn't an option.

_Greed is dangerous, it can blind a person to their initial purpose, but it does such greatness when you least expect it._

Gryffon inhaled and exhaled slowly, stepping onto the pedestal within the glass tube, turning back to Canworm to offer one last smile. "Good luck," the stylist mouthed, stepping back as the tube closed. No greed. He wasn't greedy. He knew he was going to die. He had to for her to get out. There was nothing he could do about it.

**10 Seconds**

The tube shook a bit and began to push upward, taking Gryffon to the arena. The arena . . . Oh fuck, it was right above him now . . . Right there. The deathtrap. Finally there . . .

A blinding light flashed into his vision and a gong vibrated, announcing the minute countdown until the Games started. A minute. A mere sixty seconds away. Oh shit . . . That couldn't be right . . . So soon?

Gryffon's eyes slowly adapted to the sudden brightness, and instantly he wished he could stay blind. Too many strange things to take in at once, but he couldn't help it. A hundred yards ahead of him sat the Cornucopia in all its golden glory. And that's where the normalities of each year ended.

Smokey-grey grass; hills peaking around the horn; short, gnarled trees lay beyond the hills; the Cornucopia didn't have any weapons strewn around it- only different sized and colored packs, and unless the weapons were hidden within the horn, there were none. But the Capitol wouldn't do that. Couldn't do that.

Then the tributes . . . They looked like something out of a fairy tale. Six boys wore a dark suit with tight-looking gloves on with a fairly large top hat on. Something like a weird, distorted sort of magician, Gryffon guessed. Six girls, the ones who were district partners with the suit-wearing boys, had somewhat of a bunny thing going on. White leotard with a black corset around their stomachs, they even had the large rabbit ears and tail, and to tie it all up, they had a black choker with a little bow in the back and what looked like ten-inch heels. Honestly, the bunny girls looked cute, who cared if they looked like playboy toys?

The other six girls wore a similar outfit to the bunny, but theirs was a mouse: large round ears, thin and long tail, grey-silver leotard with the same lacy corset, same heels, little ribbon-bow-tie. But the remaining boys were dressed like Gryffon was. God, they couldn't come up with something less stupid? Or at least something that made more sense? The teen rolled his eyes and clenched his fists. All right . . . Focus . . . Who's around you?

**_20 seconds_**

19

18

17

16

Jay stood in a mouse suit three people away, next to the strangely colored magician. The boy was the forgettable kid from 10 and the little rabbit beside him might be the freckled girl from 5. On Gryffon's other side stood the Four girl, also dressed as a white rabbit, and beside her was the boy from 12, wearing the magician's outfit. Their eyes met briefly, but the timer caught his attention.

**_5 seconds_**

4

3

2

1 . . .

BOOM

The canon rang in his ears for a moment, and his next movements were a blur. Tripping the 10 boy was easy, and making Four get out of his way wasn't too much trouble. But where was he going? What was he doing? What bag should he pick up? Should he go around the tail of the Cornucopia and try to get something from inside the horn? Or just pick up whatever and run? Stay away from the fighters, from the bloodbath, from an immediate death.

No, he could do it. He had to!

Gryffon wasn't going to prove Annabelle right. He had to do it. "Gryff!"  
He ignored Jay's voice, or what he thought to be her voice, and bolted around the golden metal, trying not to trip over the clumped packs and people running or getting killed. He narrowly missed something being thrown in his direction, but he hardly noticed it until it landed in the ground in front of him, suddenly jolting him awake.

And of course, to please his oh-so wonderful escort, he had to trip right then.


End file.
